


Only Fools Rush In

by bamfbugboy



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Characters, Community: falloutkinkmeme, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, FSoSu makes frequent literary tv and movie references like a huge nerd, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Vault 81, blind betrayal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-10-20 07:39:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10657956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamfbugboy/pseuds/bamfbugboy
Summary: An American history professor stumbles out of Vault 111, wondering if history has made a fool of her. She searches for her kidnapped son in the wasteland of the Commonwealth. Along the way, she meets Danse, a paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel, who helps turn this scholar into a fighter. As they travel together to search for answers, Nora can't help falling in love with him.Too bad the Commonwealth has other plans.





	1. Oz, and Other Failed Utopias

**Author's Note:**

> This story came about as I became reinterested in the Fallout universe a second time over. I started this story during my second play through, in which I'm striving for the "perfect" ending where every faction remains peaceful to the player character. This time through, I stumbled upon Vault 81, which opened up Pandora's Box as far as ideas go. Originally this story was supposed to just be contained to Vault 81, but it became its own beast as I kept writing it. 
> 
> This story features some canon divergence and some quest tweaking. She was an American history professor at Cambridge instead of a lawyer. This story also serves as a loose fill for [ this prompt](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/7011.html?thread=18698851#t18698851) on the fallout kink meme, in which anon wanted for there to be some similarities between her late husband and Paladin Danse. 
> 
> Without further ado, thank you for checking out this story. I hope you enjoy it!

_Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay_  
_To mould me man? Did I solicit thee_  
_From darkness to promote me?_  
\-- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

**x X x**

Vault 81. This is what it could have been. _Should_ have been. If fate had not been so cruel. In another life, in another world.

**x X x**

“We’re comrades, Knight Prescott. If something’s on your mind, you should tell me.”

Knight Nora Prescott frowns to herself. Was her disquiet with this place really so obvious? They should have never wandered into that cave, even if it was to seek shelter from the looming radstorm. Riding out the radiation storm in a tent sounded better than staying here any longer. It doesn’t matter if the people in Vault 81 are friendly, innocent, and perhaps even naive. It doesn’t matter if the overseer was kind enough to sympathize with their situation, maybe even pity them. There was room in this inn, and they couldn’t turn them away, not back into the storm. No, to the dwellers of Vault 81, this is the Garden of Eden. 

“It’s this vault, isn’t it?” 

"I don’t know. Maybe.” Nora can’t quite put her finger on it, and she knows he dislikes indecisiveness. “Sure, don’t get me wrong, Danse. This place, it's... pleasant, yes, but it makes me ill. It has nothing to do with these people. It's about this space. Seeing Vault-Tec logos everywhere. The jumpsuits. The bright fluorescent lights. Even the cleanliness is off putting. I don't want to linger here long, even if it's safe, clean, warm, welcoming. I don't care if the beds have actual springs or if the pillows still have down. Being here makes me feel like I'm about to vomit, constantly. It feels like the walls are going to swallow me up. There's something off with Vault 81 and I know it." 

"Is this the claustrophobia talking?" He asks, his firm gaze boring into her. 

Nora swallows hard. No beating around the bush, this time, huh? She regrets ever telling him she suffers from a fear of small spaces.

"Yes--I-I mean, I don't know. It probably is so much more than that. Cramped spaces made me uncomfortable even before Vault 111." 

Nora closes her eyes, tries to fight back the memories, and fails. The time she was locked in a supply closet as a young girl by bullies. Waiting for hours, pounding on the door, begging for someone, anyone to find her, to let her out, to help her. She spent the entire night in that damn closet and half a day extra until the janitor finally showed up. Being bullied, she could tolerate that. But being trapped… well, that experience has haunted her since then. 

Then came Vault 111, that awful, horrific day. _Step into the “decontamination chamber”, Mrs. Prescott. You’ll be right as rain in no time, ma’am,_ they had told her. Nate had smiled and told her everything would be alright. It wasn’t. Nothing was. Then came Kellogg and the other Institute goons. Watching her husband die before her eyes while she was trapped only provided fuel to the fire. She can’t bear being in this vault, let alone tight spaces. 

"I used to be so anxious. I still am, maybe. Small, tight spaces make me sick. Darkness, too. I used to get such terrible panic attacks, but Nate would always be there." 

God, how she misses him. Her sweet, loving Nathan. It didn’t matter how long it took, he always waited out her nervous spells. He didn't think her weak nor a coward. Nora scoffs. Surely Paladin Danse thinks it’s a liability, even if he’s promised to keep her secret. Soldiers need to be alert, no matter what. And, of course she lied to Knight-Captain Cade, the Prydwen’s doctor. She lied to her therapist, too. Some habits never fade away. 

"You must think I'm so weak, so pathetic. Feeling sick over a facility." 

"I get it, Prescott,” he says with a shrug. Well, at least he’s sympathetic. He damn well should be, considering he chooses to let his own PTSD go untreated. “This place isn't like the Commonwealth. It's different. I don’t really like it either." 

She sniffles and wipes at her eyes. "The Commonwealth taught me to get over these kinds of feelings fast. A reality check like none other. But this... this place. You're right, it's different. It feels so remote, so..." 

Nora shrugs listlessly. No word can describe the uncanny valley this unsettling vault epitomizes. There’s human warmth here, but it’s too sterile, too whitewashed. It’s something out of the _Twilight Zone_. Danse wouldn't understand her reference anyways. _God, I never thought I’d miss the Commonwealth._

She looks away from him, folding her arms across her chest. A tear rolls down her cheek. Loneliness and helplessness has never looked this pathetic. She hears a heavy footfall behind her, and then there’s a hand upon her shoulder. 

“I’m serious. I understand. I know how strong of a woman you are. You don’t need to prove it to me. You prove it every single day.” 

Nora blinks, takes off her thin-rimmed glasses, and wipes at her eyes once more. Well, that was nice of him. Unexpected, but nice. She puts on her glasses, turns to look at him, and smiles half-heartedly. 

"Would this be an inappropriate time to ask for a hug?" 

"No, I suppose not." 

Paladin Danse’s metal clad arms wrap around her. Power armor makes for awkward, unpleasant hugs, but she returns the gesture as well as she can. At least the thought counts. She does feel better. Stronger. 

"Thanks, Danse." 

"You're welcome, Prescott." 

"Alright,” she says with more confidence. “Time to stop feeling sorry for myself. Let's go find that cat and make that little girl happy."

**x X x**

Nora hates that her suspicions were spot on. Nothing is sacred in the Commonwealth, not even this place that seemed so innocent, so pure, so untouched by corruption. 

Bitterly, the facade has been pulled back in the City of Oz, and the Wizard has been revealed to be a magician of cheap parlor tricks. Vault 81 was a facade. An experiment--if a failed one. 

These people don’t know how lucky they are that only one boy fell ill. An epidemic like no other could have easily spread through this vault, this petri dish in the making. They have no idea.

**x X x**

"...Truly, you don’t have to. My companions and I will need to head back to the Commonwealth soon. We can't stay here."

Overseer McNamara raises a brow. "Miss, not even for a night? Surely you would like a break from the Commonwealth." She gives Nora a pleading look. “I understand you have many places you and your friends need to be, but please, let us properly repay you. You have no idea how much it means to us. You saved our lives and our home. We know the truth now because of you.” 

Nora chews on her lip. She looks past the overseer's shoulder and sees her companion, Paladin Danse standing tall in his power armor with his arms clasped behind his back. Dogmeat rests beside his armored foot, enjoying a chew toy donated by Erin, the young girl who lost her cat. A gift for saving Austin, the boy who contracted a nearly incurable disease from a molerat. 

"We have fresh dinners every night. Clean water to wash all that dirt and grime off till you're spick and span."

Nora flushes in embarrassment. She takes pride in her appearance, wasteland or not. No, she's never been been able to take anything other than sponge baths since leaving Vault 111, but she liked to think she looked decently clean considering all the Commonwealth muk. Compared to these vault dwellers, she must look downright disgusting. No wonder so many of them recoiled at the mere sight of her.

"I'm sure we could wash your clothes and perhaps Miss Katy could even sew a few patches onto this shirt of yours. I'm sure the children wouldn't mind giving your dog a bath too." 

Dogmeat perks up at the sound of a bath, her poor boy. Nora scratches the back of her neck. 

While these vault dwellers have for the most part been kind and considerate given her status as an outsider, the thought of staying much longer here in Vault 81... makes her uneasy. 

This place brings back terrible memories--more than it should, considering how brief her time in Vault 111 seemed. Life before the war. The day the bombs fell. Blue and yellow jumpsuits with the number 111 patched on. Seemingly compassionate smiles, assurances that everything would be alright. This vault represents everything--well, almost everything--life should have been for her and her family. Vault 111 was a trap; Vault 81, a ticking time bomb. These people don't know how lucky they are. Two centuries of ignorance; she envies these folks. 

In every child's face she sees her son. Austin reminds her of Shaun, or what she likes to imagine Shaun could have been, had he not been taken. Auburn hair like hers, a wide smile, curiosity in his grey eyes. Nora looks at the squabbling couples in this vault, and she wishes she had the guts to tell them how lucky they are--at least your spouse is alive, at least your children are healthy. Be happy in your safe world. 

"Knight Prescott." 

Danse's commanding voice stirs her from her stupor. Nora blinks, tilts her head, and she sees a hand upon her shoulder. A metal encased hand against her faded green flannel shirt. She doesn't even notice the weight. 

"The overseer has been trying to get your attention. Stay alert." 

"Sorry, Ma'am," she mumbles. "I suppose if you and your fellow vault dwellers don't mind, we'll stay a night." 

"Good. Please, make full use of our services. You've met everyone. They would be more than happy to help. You've done us a service we can never repay." Overseer McNamara glances to Danse. "Horatio can offer you a shave, Mister… uhm… Paladin Danse, was it?" 

Nora's eyes briefly meet his, and then she looks away. The hand falls from her shoulder. Professionalism returns to his features. A moment of concern, gone.

"Affirmative. Paladin Danse. Officer of the Brotherhood of Steel." 

"I'm sure you have quite the exciting tales. Perhaps you and Miss Prescott can share some with the students. Talk to Katy about it." Overseer Gwen clears her throat. "Now, follow me, I'll show you to your room." 

The three of them follow the overseer. Nora listens to each heavy footfall Danse makes, and somehow she can't help but find it amusing. 

"Am I missing something?" He asks her. 

"No. Not really. I was just thinking about how many people you're likely waking up with those footfalls. Think of the vault dwellers, Danse. They're tired. They work all day and some all night. Maybe if we're going to stay here a night you should take off that power armor." 

"You may be right, Prescott. These people are not used to these kinds of sounds. Perhaps I can take this opportunity to clean this suit." 

Nora smiles to herself when she knows Danse isn't looking. Maybe she'll finally see him without the armor. Wouldn't that be a thought. She's got a bet with Piper. _Ten caps says he's skinny as a twig,_ Nora said, joking. Piper bet ten caps on him filling that armor just fine. _Report the findings, Blue, for the good of the Commonwealth._

"Alright. This will be your quarters. I apologize that it's so small. But I promise, the bed is comfortable! And the walls are sound proof too." 

Nora's head sharply turns. "Excuse me?" 

"Oh, there's no need to be shy, dear." 

"Relax, Prescott. It means the whole vault won't have to hear you snore." 

Nora looks over her shoulder and gapes, brows narrowed. She can't tell if he's joking, if he's serious, or if he's truly missing the implication behind the overseer's words. 

"I do not snore," she laments. Could Danse really be this dense? He still hasn't understood what she's saying. Or maybe he doesn't care. Maybe he's keeping professionalism between them. _Maybe he's more green than you thought,_ Nate's voice tells her. "I have to correct you, overseer. Danse and I are not together." 

"Oh. My apologies. You both seemed so close! I thought surely you were married!"

"No," Nora frowns. 

Her and Danse married? Let alone in a relationship? In her dreams. It doesn't matter if she's thought about it. Hell, she even worked through the emotional and mental hoops to convince herself that a widow having thoughts about another man isn't wrong. Hell, even her consciousness's little version of Nate's voice has approved. 

_It's alright, honey. You've let yourself grieve long enough. He's a good man. He cares about you, in his own way. I remember guys like him all the time back in basic training. The ones who think military life is everything, and then they meet that special someone. Kinda like me, when I first saw you. I can tell Danse felt the same way at the police station. Do me a favor dear, and just be happy. He's cute, too. I'd want him too._

Oh, Nora's fantasized about him while laying in her sleeping bag, restless, while he sat on watch. Danse never slept, it seemed. In the shadows around their campfires she would look at him, study him, admire him. He would sit next to Dogmeat, scratching behind his ears, talking to him in the night in a low, gruff voice. Nora could never make out what he said. It didn't matter. Professional codes of ethics keep them ten feet apart. No, they'll never be anything other than friends. Soldiers in arms. Coworkers, essentially. Companions on the road. Piper's little bet and the ritual teasing of her friends hasn't helped. 

Nora's tried to move on. To get over her little schoolgirl crush. Danse is just a man, after all. He's mortal. He's... She bites her lip. What she wouldn't give to see how he looks without the armor. God, what's underneath that hood of his, too? Does he have a full head of hair? Is he bald, is that why he tries to hide it? What she wouldn't give to know. 

Nora can't help the rush of sensation running down her spine at these thoughts. If only she hadn't agreed to joining the Brotherhood, perhaps she could have spared herself this heartache. 

"He's my superior officer." 

Now it's Danse's turn to be shaken from a rare moment of dozing off. The situation registers to him as awkwardly as it did for her. 

"Right. Negative, civilian. Knight Prescott and I are soldiers in arms."

"Oh, my apologies!" Gwen fidgets. "Should I ask one of the other women if they wouldn't mind sharing a room with one of you?" 

"If you wouldn't mind," Nora says quietly, her heart sinking in her chest. Foolhardy, girlish, useless pining. _You're not in the 21st Century anymore._ "You can sleep here, Danse. I think you deserve the right to a good rest. You need one." 

"No. I--"

"Danse," she says firmly. "I will _not_ hear it. You always keep watch at night, and how many times have I told you that sleep is important. You're staying here and that's final."

Danse looks absolutely flummoxed. The crease in his brow deepens. They both know how hard of a time he has trying to go to sleep. Aboard the Prydwen, Cade told her to keep an eye on Danse. 

"This will be good for you. Take advantage of a threat-free environment. We cleared this place. It's safe." 

"Fine," he sighs. "Since you insist." 

_Who really gives the orders,_ Nora wonders. 

"I'll have one of our Mr. Handy's come by and collect your laundry, Mr. Danse, with some fresh clothes. This room also has it's own washroom. Dinner will be served starting at 5 o'clock." 

"Roger that. Thank you." 

"I'll see you at dinner, Danse," Nora says before waving goodbye. "Dogmeat, be a good boy with Danse, okay? Don't go chasing Ashes." 

"I'll keep an eye on him. He'll be on his best behavior." Danse says with a small smile. "And I’ll be there, Prescott."

**x X x**

Miss Katy's room, where Nora will be spending the night, is right across from Paladin Danse's temporary quarters. The young teacher's room lacks a personal shower, but it has other amenities such as a bunk bed, radio, and a computer terminal.

The Mrs. Handy robot stopped by moments ago to drop off a fresh set of clothes and to take her laundry. She's thankful the robot didn't bring a vault suit to change into She'd rather roam naked than wear that. Instead, the robot left an old, pre-war green, laundered dress with cap sleeves and a skirt that falls to her knees. It's something she would have worn to Nate's speech at the American Legion post. She takes a borrowed bar of soap and towels and leaves the room to find Danse's door open. 

Nora peers inside to find him kneeling on the ground, out of his bulky power armor, and most importantly, he's wearing civilian clothes. Clothes he fills far too well. Damn, she owes Piper money. 

"Oh, hello, soldier," Danse greets her before standing upright. He wipes his hands on a cloth, then his forehead. 

At full height in the power armor, he's much taller than her. Without the suit, he's only half a foot taller. He wears jeans, a brown flannel button-up, and a white shirt underneath. He's trimmed his beard, and he's without that awful hood. Nora’s happy to see a full head of dark hair.

Nora has never seen a man quite like him. Tall, broad, muscular. All he needs to do is lean over an old style corvega with his shirt wet, and he could easily be something out of dirty pin-up magazine. 

_He's a demon, he's a devil, he's a doll..._

"How are you holding up, soldier? Anything to report?” 

Nora collects herself quickly. Danse didn't catch her staring. Good. All she needs are simple words to make it through this conversation. 

"I-I was just heading down to the uh...to the showers, to get naked--" 

Nora stops speaking immediately. She builds a sweat, trembling in anxiety. 

What is this, high school? God damn if this entire situation doesn't take her back. Poindexter glasses, braces, pimples like no other, with books in her hands. Danse would have looked amazing in a letterman's jacket, now that she thinks about it. Oh, he would look just fine standing next to Nate. They would have been varsity players, they would have been Homecoming Kings for sure. Boy, she could eat them both up like apple pie... 

"Prescott, are you okay?" 

"Yes! Yes. I... I am wonderful. Fantastic. Great. So great. You wouldn't believe how _great_ I am."

Danse raises a brow in clear confusion. 

"Everything's just fine here. How--How are you?" 

Nora feels like Han Solo talking to the Imperials over the comm channel. _A New Hope._ Danse wouldn't get the joke. 

"I actually have to thank you, Knight. Staying here has been better than I expected. A good break. My armor needed a check-up." 

"Oh, well, good. See? I told you. Just one night." 

_One lousy night in what might as well be the Commonwealth's only oasis. A diamond in the rough. Take that, Diamond City._

"If you would prefer, you can use the shower here. I imagine you may want your privacy. This will likely be the only chance you have at it." 

Nora's cheeks heat up. "I couldn't possibly, you're working, I..."

Danse shakes his head and returns to kneeling beside the power armor's large leg. 

"I insist. I'm just cleaning off some of the junk on the metal plating. We have to show others that the Brotherhood takes care of itself. I really don't mind." 

Nora's eyes fall to Danse's hand as he presses a washcloth to the side of one of his power armor’s legs. Lovingly touched, sudsy--she can't help but imagine Danse touching her the way he touches that suit. With precise care. Like she's the most important person in their whole messed up world. And maybe lathered up in soap, too. Downright pornographic thoughts cross her mind, and the images make heat pool between her legs. She shifts uncomfortably. She needs that cold shower, suddenly. 

"Okay, Danse. I'll borrow your shower, if you don't mind." 

Nora walks to his washroom, and she's thankful it's another room all in itself. She tells herself to take only a quick one, just the basics, but when she steps inside, she finds bottles of shampoo, conditioner, scented soaps, shaving cream, and a razor. 

Okay, so maybe at least ten minutes. 

Then, she undresses, steps under the spray, and she chokes up, almost cries, for God's sake. The clean, hot water feels heavenly, divine, like something out of a wet-dream. _Wow, bad pun, Nora, Christ almighty._ She stands under the spray for more than ten minutes alone without a thought. Without a care in the world. 

When she senses too much time has surely passed, Nora washes her hair and shaves (who knew smooth legs could be a blessing she once took for granted). She stares down at the water circling down the drain, steam creating a pleasant mist all around her, and Nora's thoughts wander while she washes her body.

Arms circling her waist. Rough, calloused, lathered-up hands splaying across her stomach. Palms running up and down her skin, groping her, touching her modest breasts, pinching her nipples. Hot breath against her ear, murmured words against her temple, _Spread your legs, soldier._

Nora finds her hand falling between her legs, obeying her fantasy's command. Nonetheless, her hand hesitates before going any further. 

_What are you waiting for? I gave you an order._

"Sir, yes, sir," she murmurs, her voice muffled by the shower's spray. 

Nora hasn't touched herself since... well, when Nate was gone, fighting at the Alaskan Front. Before she was pregnant with Shaun. She has felt sexual frustration in recent months, sure, but old guilt and constant fear left her unable to act on her needs. 

Paladin "Dense as Steel," as Piper liked to call him, hasn't helped, either. She's pined after him while dealing with feelings of shame, fears of infidelity, and worries of putting herself into an ethical minefield with no way out. She used to be able to ignore these desires. 

_Screw the rules, I need this._

But now, seeing Danse in those clothes, seeing his face clean, seeing his hair, even... hearing his voice, imagining his hands on her body, touching her like he touches that armor of his. Christ, Nora imagines him bending her over the table and fucking her while telling her how many rules they're breaking. His broad chest pressing into her back, his large hands gripping her waist so hard. Slamming into her relentlessly until she can't take it anymore, begging for him not to stop. 

Nora moans aloud, causing her to stop her exploration. A moment later, she hears a knock at the bathroom door. 

"Prescott? Are you alright?" 

Oh God, Danse. She should stop. Right now. Right away. But... she can't. He's on the other side of the door, he's so close, but so far away. Nora starts rubbing her clit faster. The bathroom doesn't have a lock. God, all he'd have to do is turn the knob and walk on in. She'd let him join her, she'd let him watch--

"Y-Yes!" She calls out, answering him at the same time as her climax. She slumps against the shower wall, shuddering, her knees jello. She bites her lip, silencing another moan, and desperately tries to catch her breath. 

"I'll be out in a moment!" 

Nora washes herself clean once more and then turns off the shower. She steps out of the stall and wraps herself in a towel. The room has one large mirror, and her reflection catches her attention. Flushed skin, damp hair, green eyes wide as the moon. 

No one has to know what she did; no one ever will. She can fight this, she can ignore her feelings. Hell, surely they all were exorcised in her wonderful, toe-curling orgasm. She gave in, so her desires are sated. Right?

Yes, of course. It’s simple. Easy as that. Nothing more to it. She sees herself frown in her reflection while combing out her hair. 

Nothing more can ever come of it. Nothing ever will. Danse’s words echo in her thoughts: 

_There’s the Brotherhood, and then there’s everything else._


	2. Old World Anachronisms: "I Understood That Reference"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you guys will see from now on, the point of view will be shifting back and forth between Nora and Danse. This chapter is all Danse, but for future chapters, a new section starting with **x X x X x** will represent a new POV. Any section starting with **x X x** will be continuing the previous's sections POV. Hope that makes sense.

"Prescott, are you alright?" 

Danse stands on the other side of the washroom door, waiting. He can't hear her response, but he does catch another moan. His instincts tell him she's hurt, and though his hand rests upon the automated door's panel, he can't bring himself to push the button to disengage the magnets. 

Prescott could have slipped and fell. He almost did, as much as it shames him to admit it. He had no idea linoleum could be so slippery. Maybe she banged her knee or an elbow. He should help. He should burst through this door and help her. But he can't. She deserves her privacy, rather than having to worry about him barging in on her… in a state of undress.

Prescott was right. This place, this vault, it is different. Being here, underground so many feet, it's different than the Commonwealth. Not just in appearances, but in... mannerisms. Perhaps it's the civies he's dressed in, or maybe it's because he promised her the luxury of privacy. If this place were the Prydwen, she'd be using the communal showers with other female soldiers. If he heard any of his sisters were hurt, he'd help, and that would be that. But this... this is different. He can't explain why his stomach churns and why his heart races. 

"Yes!" She finally replies, and Danse releases a sigh of relief. Mission accomplished. No need to be alarmed. "I'll be out in a moment!" 

Danse steps back and returns to his power armor standing by the small bed. He picks up the dirtied rag, rinses it in a bowl of water, and starts to clean the gauntlet. Once they're back in the Commonwealth, his armor will quickly grow dirty again. Blood cakes on easily when every step of the way there's a target to be acquired and eliminated. At least for a while, he hopes, the shining steel will inspire others to see good in the Brotherhood. 

Moments later, Danse hears the washroom door open with a whir. Knight Prescott walks out, her footsteps soft against the spotless floor. He glances briefly to her and then double takes. 

Prescott stands in his temporary quarters wearing a dark green dress that falls to just below her knee. Her legs are bare, shaven, smooth, long. Her auburn hair has been washed, dried, and styled with some subtle curls. Her tanned skin appears rosey, healthy, clean, without a spec of dirt or dried blood. Her eyes have freshly applied makeup, nothing overdone. Her glasses make her look smart, poised, brilliant. If he had to describe her appearance, she reminds him of a pre-war librarian. He knows she wasn’t one back then; instead, she worked as an American history professor at Cambridge, when it was still a university. The wasteland has little use for well-read scholars of history, but perhaps she would have made a good scribe or proctor. 

He’s never seen a woman quite like her. So elegant, so confident, so… well, he already thought her beautiful, if shamefully. He is her sponsor, after all, and he owes it to Nora to look out for her objectively. It doesn’t matter if his heart races at the sight of her. It doesn’t matter if her ruby red lips tempt him in ways no other person ever has; he’s a soldier. He’s supposed to be in command. 

“So, how do I look?” 

Danse blinks, his throat dry. He has to find his voice before he can speak. “You, uh. You look good.” 

Nora’s smile fades but doesn’t disappear. “Thanks, Danse. I tried to clean up well.” Her tone doesn’t reflect her smile. “Figured I might as well.” 

_You look more than good, you look beautiful, and I wish I was brave enough to tell you that._

“Sorry for taking so long.” 

“That’s alright. I enjoyed the hot water too. Did you slip and fall, though?” Danse notices her cheeks flush. She hesitates, and so he spares her embarrassment. “It’s alright, I did too. Banged my knee.” 

“Yeah… I guess we should be more careful.” She clears her throat. “I was going to go speak with Miss Katy’s students, if you’d like to come. She asked for interesting stories. I figure you may have some.”

“You don’t need my help with that. You have plenty to tell.” 

“I think they’d like hearing your side of the stories, too. I saw how you were with the children aboard the Prydwen recounting stories about us.” 

Danse scratches his neck. “You saw that?” 

“I saw and overheard it. I had no idea you were such a good storyteller. You had me on the edge of my seat. I was impressed. To them, you’re a hero.” 

“I just do my job,” he says, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. 

“Well, people enjoy your stories. Including me.” Nora hooks her arm through his, places her palm over his forearm, and tugs him along. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a hero, too. You’re a good man, Danse.”

Danse stops walking, and Nora stops too. He tries to keep himself composed, but he’s finding it difficult as those few, simple, compassionate words strike him deep. Ever since he lost Cutler, he’s felt nothing like a hero. Every death since has simply served as a nail in the coffin to bury any semblance of genuine belief that he was a good man. A good soldier, sure. A loyal member of the Brotherhood, no question about it. 

“Do you really mean that?” He asks quietly in the middle of the stairway leading up to the vault’s classroom. 

Nora’s a step ahead of him, staring down with a smile upon her pretty face. “Every word.”

**x X x**

Danse could listen to Nora read Proctor Quinlan’s most boring technical documents, and he’d still find it enjoyable. Soothing. As he listens to her tell these children stories, he learns she’s a wonderful storyteller, if one to embellish. These kids hang on her every word. She’s so good with children. Of course she would be, she was… _is_ a mother, after all.

“Well, there was one time Danse and I were helping the Minutemen retake this fortress known as the Castle. Our friend Preston was there. We had to clear out all these terrible, terrible beasts that had fangs, pincers, and hard shells. They’re called Mirelurks. As we were fighting, the Mirelurk queen was stirred from her rest, and she came to defend her brood. We had to dispatch her.” 

“How big was it?”

“Over three stories tall. As wide as this room. She was mighty scary. I was lucky to have Paladin Danse here, though. He saved my life.” 

“How? How?”

“Well, him and I, we wear something called power armor. Some of you saw Paladin Danse wearing it yesterday. It’s big, bulky armor that is made of the strongest steel alloys in the entire Commonwealth. We soldiers wear it with pride. But they’re not impenetrable. I was shooting this beast with my sniper rifle, trying to carefully align my shots to provide cover fire, when the Mirelurk queen appeared behind me and took me into her grip. If it weren’t for my power armor, I would have died instantly from her pincers--but luckily, Danse has modded my armor well. Preston saw me struggling to get out of the queen’s clutches, so he called out to aim for the queen’s softer undersides and to not shoot me. I thought I was going to die.” 

Their eyes meet. Nora pauses and smiles across the classroom to him while he leans against the back wall with his arms folded across his chest. 

“What happened next?”

“Well Danse, he wasn’t afraid. He charged at this beast, gun firing a shot with every loud step, and he jumped forward, slammed the full weight of his armor-clad body into her. The queen released me immediately, and I was lucky. Her pincers were covered in her own acidic venom, and it was starting to melt through my armor. Any longer in her clutches, and it would have touched my clothes and my skin. The rest of the Minutemen, led by Preston, killed the queen before she could hurt anyone else.” 

“Were you hurt? Was it scary?” 

“Yes, it was very scary. I wasn’t hurt too terribly. I had bruises and some cuts, but I was alive. Danse saved my life.” 

All of the children turn to look at him, expecting a comment. Danse doesn’t know what to say. This moment she’s retelling, it’s painful to recall. This incident at the Castle almost cost Nora her life. He should have been keeping an eye on her while she shot from the northernmost wall of the structure. He should have been more aware. She could have died. He almost lost her. 

“I was just doing my job. Knight Prescott is under my command, and I care about my team.” 

It’s a safe answer. Not the real answer. He can’t admit the truth aloud. Almost losing her took so much out of him. When the beast was dead, he ran to her, his power armor damaged too, and he knelt at her side and pulled her out of her broken husk of armor. He needed to know she was alive, that her heart still beat. He couldn’t even breathe while he searched for her wrist to take her pulse. He didn’t care who saw him. He didn’t care what Preston thought. He needed to know, kneeling on the precipice of the Castle’s walls, if he’d ever hear her voice again, see her smile. If she’d ever open her eyes again. 

She did. 

Nora’s like Cutler all over again, but this time, the wound cuts deeper. He suffered from nightmares for days while they recovered in the Castle with Preston and the others. He woke up in cold sweats, shivering, leaving his quarters to find her because he needed desperately to see her, to know she was alive. 

The thought of losing Nora Prescott terrifies Danse. He’s too attached and he knows it. He should have kept her at arm’s length, but he couldn’t. She’s too friendly, too funny, too curious, too brave. When they first met, she could barely handle a gun. Now, months later, she’s a capable soldier and a great shot with a sniper rifle. A woman he’s proud to have under his command. And that’s why he swallows down his feelings like bitter pills. 

“Knight Prescott is a woman like none other, and her bravery knows no bounds.” It’s as close to the truth as he allows himself. “Why don’t you tell them the story of when you fought the Deathclaw and saved Preston’s life?” 

An easy deflection. A story from before they met. The kids all clamor around her, eager to hear how she singlehandedly protected the few remaining settlers under Garvey’s charge. Danse watches her share the captivating story, listening as intently as these children, but he notices her glance every now and then to him, blushing sheepishly each time he catches her. She curls a strand of hair behind her ear. How much he would give to do it himself, to touch her auburn hair, to cup her cheek. To see her smiling just for him. She doesn’t know the power she has over him, and it’s terrifying in such a different way. He’s tempted by her, by his feelings for her. 

All Danse can do is stare back, his heart racing in his chest.

**x X x**

After class ends, they head to the diner to have supper. Along the way, she asks him a question that catches him off guard.

“Do you know the exact date the bombs fell, Danse?” 

“October 23, 2077.” He raises a brow. “Why do you ask?” 

Nora hesitates. With her arms folded across her chest, she looks as if she’s trying to hold herself together. When she speaks, her voice trembles. “Nate and I were going to take Shaun to the park that morning. Later on that week, we were going to host a neighborhood Halloween party and hold a haunted house. We had been living in Sanctuary Hills for about a year; Nate had been retired from the army for a little over a year. We were living in our first home together. We had just had Shaun. We wanted to make the beginning of the holiday season feel special.” She sighs deeply and rubs at her eyes. “You’re probably wondering why I’m bringing this up.” 

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Prescott. You can tell me anything. We’re not engaged in combat; we’re off-duty.” 

The corner of Nora’s lips quirk upward in a smile. “If we’re off-duty, then I insist you call me by my first name, not by my surname.” 

“That’s not appropriate.” 

“You said we were off-duty. Not engaged in combat.” 

Danse sighs. Sometimes he isn’t surprised she had won the award for best debater in her school’s history club over 200 years ago. He knows because she made sure to show him when they passed through Concord High while clearing out ferals. They saw the worn plaque in the trophy case with her name on it: Nora Trevelyn, Class of 2064.

“You actually _remember_ my first name, right?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“Oh? Then say it.” 

Danse purses his brows. Sometimes he wonders if she cares at all about the chain of command, rules, or ethics. It doesn’t matter if he cornered himself on this topic, it doesn’t matter if he’d love nothing more than to say her name without feeling like he’s crossing a line. He never even called Cutler by his first name, and they had been friends since childhood. 

He takes too long to respond, he realizes. Her playful smile has all but evaporated. 

“Oh. You really don’t remember.” 

Now he really feels guilty. If Haylen were here, she’d tell him plainly he messed up big time.

“Nora, I didn’t forget.” 

“Well, that’s a relief.” Her smile returns, if smaller than before. “I asked about the date because seeing these vault children makes me think of Shaun. About those days. I used to read him stories, these cute picture books we picked up from a yard sale. He loved this one story with a lion. Looking back, I only had a month with him after he was born, can you believe it? Back then, it felt like forever. Then again, Nate and I hardly ever slept.” 

“The amount of time is inconsequential. He was your son and you loved him. Time is relative. The meaning you ascribe to those moments is what matters.” 

“Wow.” Nora blinks at him in shock. She pulls him close in a tight hug. “Thank you,” she murmurs, “that was really sweet of you to say.” 

Danse can’t help the blush that spreads across his cheeks. He spoke from the heart. Meant every word. Haylen would be proud of him. 

He realizes this is the first time they’ve ever embraced--actually embraced. Her head rests against his chest, and the sweet smell of her brown hair intoxicates him. Her warm body fits well against his, and he finds himself holding her back, firmly. She needed this hug for herself, but perhaps he needed it too, more than he really thought. He wishes he could protect her from the pain of her past. He wishes he could ease her suffering by taking the weights off of her shoulders once and for all.

Danse once told her, _There’s the Brotherhood, and then there’s everything else._

In this moment, he knows that has changed. Now, there’s the Brotherhood, Nora Prescott, and then everything else. 

_I love her._

Little shakes Danse to his core, but this sudden epiphany sends everything he has ever known and understood into disarray. It’s wrong to have these feelings for her; she’s a subordinate. Having this affection for Nora could jeopardize her life or someone else's. He must ignore it. He must shove it down so far deep, into the heart of darkness. He must let it fade to nothingness. 

Nothing can ever come of it. No one can ever find out. If it did come into the light, they’d be brought up on fraternization charges. His judgment would be questioned. They could be expelled from the Brotherhood. As they rightly should. 

Nonetheless, for but a moment, Danse allows himself to fantasize. Retirement. Living in Sanctuary Hills. Living with Nora. They found her son, rescued him from the Institute, and they raise him together, until he grows old enough to join the Brotherhood. They serve the Minutemen and the Brotherhood, and they live happily together. It’s the Commonwealth, so it’s a struggle, but they make it work. Danse works hard to make her happy, and she makes him happy every single day, too. It’s not the world of domestic bliss she once knew, but it’s something different, something special. Something they build together. 

The vision disappears the moment Nora steps back, and their embrace ends. Their eyes meet: his brown to her green. She clears her throat, mumbling her thanks again, and they head to the vault’s diner in awkward silence. 

_I’m sorry,_ he wants to tell her, but instead she walks away with her arms folded across her chest. _I can’t give you that. You deserve better._

**x X x**

Danse finds himself poking at his meal throughout dinner, without an appetite. Instead, he picks at it with his fork like a child unwilling to eat his tatos. It has nothing to do with the quality of the meal. His dour thoughts soiled whatever good mood he had today.

“The pie is absolutely delicious, Maria. I haven’t had anything quite like it in, well, centuries.” 

“You can thank Mrs. Penske for the delicious fruit. She grows it all herself.” 

“Oh, I most certainly will!” 

Ruefully, in moments of quiet during the stillness of evening along their travels, Danse wonders if her husband Nathan truly appreciated her like she deserves. Often, he tries to imagine what Nora must have been like as a doting wife. He has no trouble seeing her as a mother, nor is it hard to picture her as a professor, teaching students about history and its importance. He’s asked questions about the past, about American history prior to the war. She loves sharing information about her specialty--the United States post the second World War with Germany and Japan. She talks often about her negative thoughts on the bomb, atomic energy, and the state of the government in the late 21st Century--opinions that often got her into trouble amongst her more conservative, upper middle class peers. He enjoys hearing her impromptu lectures. 

Danse used to be unable to picture Nora in dresses like the one she wears now, with her hair done, with her makeup perfectly applied. Now, he has something to work off of, and he knows this image will haunt him. Of course, he finds her beautiful, regardless. If he had to choose, he prefers her wearing the grit of the Commonwealth. There’s something about seeing her with a rifle in her hands, with dirt under her nails, with her body lovingly encased in power armor, that simply hits every note of attraction for him. It also shows how far along she’s come. 

Danse remembers the days at the Cambridge Police Station. With Dogmeat at her side, Nora was nervous, uncertain, desperate for friends in what was a new world for her. “The woman out of time,” Piper had called her. Danse knows she only joined the Brotherhood of Steel out of necessity, not genuine interest in their goals. He can understand that. 

What he doesn’t understand, however, is why she has stayed after all this time. By the time she made connections with Nick Valentine, she was more than capable with a gun. Nora didn’t need him anymore, but she insisted on bringing him along with her on her mission to find Shaun. She stayed with the Brotherhood. Even came aboard the Prydwen and agreed to a promotion and his continued sponsorship. She followed orders, she completed tasks for other Brotherhood members. Of course, she was never afraid to speak her mind--much to the dismay of Proctor Quinlan. Danse knows her stance on their tenants, and so does Maxson. Danse knows she’s made friends with ghouls, spared Institute synths, and even invited Nick Valentine to her old home. He can’t stop her, but he often contemplates her reasons for staying.

“Prescott,” Danse suddenly interjects, completely unaware if she’s finished with her previous conversation or not. 

“Hmm?” 

Danse looks up from his food and sees her wiping her mouth politely with a napkin. She finished her piece of pie. 

“Why are you still with the Brotherhood of Steel?”

Nora lowers her napkin from her face and shrugs. “Because I enjoy working with you and Haylen. I don’t think Rhys likes me, still.” 

“That’s not a good enough of a reason,” he grounds out.

“I didn’t know I needed a reason,” she says, her brows narrowing in suspicion, “I didn’t know I’d need to come up with one on the spot.” 

He scoffs. “Why did you even agree to join?” 

“You know why already. I joined because I thought that being allied with something structured and stable would be good for me. You know Nate was drafted, and though he vocally disapproved of the war with China, he still believed the army helped keep him focused.”

“If he didn’t actually believe in what he was fighting for, why didn’t he leave once he could?” 

Nora purses her brows. “Are you asking me why he didn’t become a draft dodger? Why he didn’t desert?” 

“What was the point of sticking around when he fundamentally disagreed with the government he fought for?” Danse scoffs and clenches his hand into a fist. “Why would you ally yourself with an organization you fundamentally disagree with on every level?” 

“Because Nate believed… _Wait._ Are you asking about _me?_ Are you asking me why I have chosen to stick with the Brotherhood, even though I think Elder Maxson may as well be a bigoted megalomaniac?” 

Suddenly Danse wishes he could reverse time and take back his words. He’s not a blind man. He knows he’s hit a nerve. Not only did he question her late husband, he’s questioned her loyalty. Loyalty that has never wavered, despite their ideological disagreements. Nora has given him no reason to question her. 

“Prescott, I…” 

Nora glares, effectively silencing him. When he says nothing further, her face falls and whatever spark her eyes held disappears. 

“Piper was right. You really are Paladin Dense,” she laments, bitterly. She stands from the table, holding her cutlery and her emptied plate. “You know, I thought by now you would have realized why I have stayed. If you can’t figure that out on your own, I don’t know what to tell you.” 

Danse regrets to see tears welling in her eyes. 

“And frankly, I think the real question you should be asking yourself is this: Why have _you_ stuck around, Danse? If my beliefs cause you such distress, maybe you should leave. Maybe you ought to head back to the Prydwen, and maybe you ought to find a new Knight to sponsor. Find one that will properly fall into line.” 

Nora leaves without another word. She gives Maria her dishes, thanks her for dinner, and exits the diner. 

Danse watches her go, rooted to the bench he sits on, completely dumbfounded by his own idiocy. This is it, this is really it. He lost Cutler, and now he’s losing Prescott. _Nora._

“Aren’t you going to go after her, Mister Danse?” 

He turns his head sharply to his right to see young Austin’s friend, Erin. The girl whose cat they found yesterday. He looks around, and he notices that all eyes are on him. They made a scene, him and Nora. He’s never felt more embarrassed, but at the same time, the little girl’s question has woken him from his stupor. His heart thuds erratically in his chest. He stands, awkwardly. 

“Hurry! Go!” 

Danse stands abruptly, breathless. He doesn’t know what to do. Never before has he felt this disoriented.

“Leave the dishes,” Erin urges. “I’ll give them to Mrs. Maria!” 

Danse nods. “Thank you, young civilian.” 

He leaves without another thought, without any further hesitation. He heads down the hall, back to the residential part of the vault where he needs to find her. He can’t lose her. For once, he’s thankful to not be wearing his power armor. He needs speed and agility if he’s going to catch her. 

Danse finds her standing before Miss Katy’s door with her arms across her chest, as if she’s holding herself together. 

“Wait, Prescott-- _Nora_ \--wait! Please.” 

Nora hesitates before turning partially to watch him run towards her. Her gaze is cold as steel in her anger. 

Danse stops in front of her, breathing hard. “Listen, please, Nora,” he begs, “I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrogated you like that. You’re my partner, not my enemy. I respect you far more than I led on. I behaved poorly.”

Nora’s arms unfold. She sighs and nods. “I appreciate your apology, but what I said still stands. I think it’s time for you to find someone new to sponsor.” 

“I don’t want that. I respect your opinions. I value them. I don’t want to fight alongside yes-men.” 

“I’m sure there are others around the Commonwealth who will serve the Brotherhood better.” 

“I know we disagree on some issues, but I want you to understand me clearly.” 

Nora looks at him expectantly. “I’m listening.” 

“I want to work with _you,_ Nora. I want no one else watching my six. I want to protect the Commonwealth at your side. Together, we are formidable. I made a vow to you to help you find your son and to teach you so you could survive in the Commonwealth. You’ve come so far since we met. At this point, honestly, you don’t need my training, but I want to help you on your journey. You’ve helped the Brotherhood significantly; I think we owe it to you to help you as well.” He pauses, trying his best to still his thudding heart. “But it’s not just that, it’s…” 

Danse swallows thickly. This is it. Time to risk everything. Somehow, someway, he knows Piper is pointing and laughing at his misery, as if she can sense his internal turmoil. In the resounding choir, he can hear that damn ghoul Hancock joining in with the mercenary MacCready, too. 

“I…” He takes a deep breath. “I love you.”

Nora’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything. Immediately his heart sinks to the bottom of his chest. Of course she doesn’t feel the same. Why would she? He’s a soldier married to his work. He said it himself: there’s the Brotherhood, and then everything else. He’s gruff, cold, messed up. Maybe they are too different, maybe he really has crossed the line this time. Maybe what he’s done really is unforgivable. He ruined this all on his own. And, of course, Nora still loves her late husband, and that’s understandable. 

“I’m… I’m a complete imbecile,” Danse says with a frown. “I’m sorry. Just forget I said anything. When we reach the Prydwen, I’ll find you a new sponsor. I’ll make this right, I’ll--” 

Danse stops abruptly when he feels soft fingers stroke along his jawline. He freezes, shocked, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even think as Nora touches him with the utmost care.

“Danse, do you really mean that? Do you really… If you’re just saying that because you’re scared I’m leaving…” 

“I didn’t just say it, Nora. I meant it. I care about the Brotherhood, you’re right. But I care about you, too. I don’t want to lose you, but if you need distance, Hell, if you’re ready to leave, then I’ll understand.” 

Nora glances away momentarily, towards his temporary quarters. She grabs him by the shirt and tugs him along until they’re alone together, away from onlookers. Once the door closes, she shoves him back against it and unclenches her fist against his chest, splaying her palm. She looks up into his brown eyes through her thin-rimmed glasses and studies him. 

“Danse, did you really not know why I stayed? Do you honestly not know why?” 

Somehow, this feels like a trick question. Danse’s frown deepens. 

“I stayed with the Brotherhood of Steel because I love you. Because I’m devoted to you, not dogma, not doctrine. You helped me when few others would. You taught me how to survive, how to not be afraid. You have listened to me grieve for my dead husband. You have saved my life countless times, even at risk to your own. You have trusted me with your own pain, and I promised to honor your vows of secrecy. I wouldn’t even be standing here with you, if you hadn’t of stepped in front of me and taken that molerat’s bite.” 

“You weren’t wearing power armor. The one time you’re without it, and you still chose to go into battle. If it had bit you…” 

“Then I would have fallen ill and died, because I would have ordered you to give that dosage to Austin no matter what.” 

“I can’t lose you, Nora. Don’t you understand?” Danse tells her, desperation laced in his words. He grabs her by the forearms and holds her still. “I can’t let you down, either.” 

“You will never do that, Danse. You’re not just a good soldier. You’re a good man, and I love you.” 

Danse’s heart stops pounding so hard. His stomach stops flipping. The weights on his shoulders have lessened. All with three simple words. Nora loves him. 

Danse gazes into her pretty green eyes and finds himself smiling softly. He feels lighter. Happier. Inspired. He wraps an arm around her, cups her cheek, and wipes the tears from her face. 

“I thought this would never happen. I thought nothing would ever come out of what I felt,” she admits, bashful. “I thought I was a fool, but I… I just couldn’t help it, Danse. I tried, really, I did. I can’t help falling in love with you.” 

“‘Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can’t help falling in love with you.’”

Recognition spreads across her face; he often doesn’t understand her old pre-war idioms or references, but this one he knows.

Danse kisses her, and it feels natural to him. Like he was put on this irradiated earth just to kiss her. He’s only kissed a handful of people before. Only ever really wanted to with her. Nora’s lips are soft, unchapped, like he imagined, and they part for him. Sparks pass between them. Nora deepens their kiss, standing on the tips of her toes to reach him. 

When they part, their breath mingles together. 

“Of course I know Elvis,” he says with a grin. “I’ve even heard there’s a group of impersonators outside of the New Vegas settlement from travelers from the west.”

“It looks like I haven’t completely figured you out just yet, Danse.” 

Nora kisses him this time, over and over, brief contact, with shorter pauses between each. They start out innocent, sweet, but then they evolve as he takes over. Danse holds her close, explores the warmth of her mouth, eliciting low moans from her. Her hands search for his mid-kisses, and once found, she places them on her clothed chest. Danse knows an invitation when he’s being offered one. He cups her breasts as best as he can through her dress. 

“I’m not going to beat around the bush, Danse,” she murmurs between breathy, hot kisses. “If there’s one thing I’m happy to have learned from the Brotherhood, it’s that you have to take advantage of whatever you can find.” 

“Go on.”

Nora leans away and holds him by his bearded jaw. “We have an actual bed. A real bed. One with working springs and everything. We have privacy.” 

Danse can easily guess where this is going, and his heart rate picks up again. 

“I’m just going to say it. This is the Commonwealth, after all.” Nora drags a finger along his bottom lip. “I want you to fuck me.” 

“Nora, if we do this, there’s no going back.” 

“I don’t care. I need you. I want you to touch me like you touched your power armor earlier.” 

Danse raises a brow in complete amusement. So he was right. She was staring at him. “ _What?_ ” 

“C’mon.” She blushes. “You know exactly what I mean.” 

Danse smiles half-heartedly. His hands fall to her hips. “In all seriousness, Nora, are you sure?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

Danse kisses her again, and this time, everything else in the Commonwealth disappears. The only person he cares about is Nora Prescott, and he wants to please her, worship her, surrender himself to her. He’s never felt this vulnerable before with anyone else, but also never felt this sure. 

Ad Victorium.


	3. Love, Which In Gentlest Hearts Will Soon Bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains NSFW material. Heed the warnings on this story!

Nora’s happy to know that despite two centuries passing, the rituals of sex haven’t changed in the slightest despite all the radiation folks have been exposed to. If anything, people care less about public indecency. Exhibitionism’s on the rise, she noticed. She’s seen plenty of people fucking in the back alleyways of Boston and even in Diamond City, the Commonwealth’s “pristine” green jewel. 

Better yet, Danse isn’t a virgin. Take that, Piper. He knows all the bells and whistles, even if he’s rusty. About a decade since he was last with anyone, he tells her. It’s okay, though. She hasn’t had sex in over two centuries. If anyone’s rusty, it’s her. 

They undress one another in a hurry, but afterward, once they stand naked together in Danse’s quarters, they slow down significantly. 

“Don’t mistake my earlier bout of vulgarity--this isn’t just sex to me,” Nora whispers while running her fingers through the tufts of brown hair on his sculpted chest. “I want this to be special. Something we remember fondly.” 

Danse picks her up with one arm. Her arms circle his neck, her legs around his waist. They kiss slow, tenderly, as if they seek to savor this feeling. He lays her down against their bed for the night. Nora takes off her glasses and places them on the small nightstand near the bed. Everything just past Danse becomes a blur. Perhaps that’s fitting; all Nora wants to see right now is him and forget about the vault they sought refuge in. She pulls him closer, inviting him to touch and explore her body. 

“You’re beautiful,” Danse says while dragging his fingertips along her thighs, tickling her. 

“I could say the same about you.” 

Nora finds it touching how the color rushes to his cheeks. Does he really not know how handsome he is? 

“I admit,” she purrs, “I’ve wondered what you’d look like beneath all that armor.” 

He raises a brow while a blush spreads across his face. “Am I what you expected?” 

A smirk spreads across her face. She visibly lets her eyes wander down his muscular form. “Much better. 

Danse smiles and bends forward to kiss her. His tongue parts her lips, and he tastes her. Then, the kisses move down her body. 

“I… I’ve thought about this,” he confesses before burying his head between her soft breasts. 

Breathlessly, Nora replies, “Me too.” 

One of his big, calloused palms splays against her stomach while the other holds a breast in place. His teeth graze her nipple, and then he’s applying pressure, sucking, drawing his tongue around her. 

Unlike beds in the Commonwealth, the mattress is soft, bending under their weight. The springs work, supporting them, and the mattress is wide enough to accommodate his size. The clean sheets invite them to make themselves comfortable. 

Nora watches as he moves lower, his lips leaving a hot trail of kisses down her body. 

“Spread your legs,” he orders.

A shiver runs down her spine. In her moment of shock, Nora doesn’t notice he’s looking up at her with a nervous expression. 

“Did I, uh… Did I say something wrong?”

“N-No…” Now it’s Nora’s turn to feel awkward. “I… I really just get kind of…” Her voice lowers to a murmur, “Get really turned on by your voice when you get all… bossy.”

Danse turns pink and blinks up at her. “Really?”

“Uhm.” Nora laughs nervously. “I mean, yeah?” 

The awkward moment hangs between them like dead air over a radio. Then, Danse leans down and kisses her, a gesture she appreciates. They take their time slowly exploring one another’s warm mouths. Sparks reignite between them as Nora reaches down in the between them to touch his shaft, causing Danse to groan into her mouth. Afterward, he pulls away from her lips and grabs her wandering hand.

“I gave you an order, earlier,” he says while staring down into her eyes. His gruff voice makes her melt into the bed. “I said spread your legs, soldier.”

Nora has never been one to be bossed around or one to bow to authority. But this, this is completely different. She spreads her legs at his command, just like in her fantasy. Danse rewards her for it by settling between her thighs and running his calloused hands over her stomach. Dirty-talk sets her off like a firework, but she knows Danse could read her the dictionary and she would love it.

Danse begins to leave a trail of kisses down her body, until he reaches her abdomen. He runs his palms over her thighs, and then his head moves between her legs. There’s no hesitation, no question, no doubt from him. He spreads her folds with two fingers, and then his tongue is on her, flicking, stroking, lapping at her. His beard and stubble scratch her legs, intensifying the sensation, and all Nora can do is thread her fingers into his hair for leverage. 

“Oh God, Danse…” 

It’s been too long since she’s felt like this. For someone who has seemed so obtuse to the romance budding between them, he eats her out like he’s on a mission. Her moans fill their small room inside of Vault 81, and suddenly Nora’s thankful the walls are soundproof. She couldn’t keep in these little noises of pleasure even if she tried--thank heaven they’re not aboard the Prydwen. His mouth doesn’t stop moving, kissing and sucking all over her. Danse doesn’t draw away even as she starts to grind her hips against his face. He doesn’t flinch when her legs hold him in a vice grip. 

“Danse, if you keep this up, I’m…” 

Danse pulls back slightly and slips a finger inside of her. His finger curls deep, stroking her little bundle of nerves. When he adds another, the stretch feels good, so good, and the slightest touch of his tongue upon her pearl sends her hurtling over the edge. Her climax ripples throughout her body, making her toes point and curl. She can barely get a handle on her own breathing. She hasn’t felt like this in literal centuries. Fantasy is one thing. Nothing ever compares to the real experience. As she stares up at the metal ceiling, she wonders if she needed this more than she realized.

Nora releases him from the vice of her trembling thighs, but Danse doesn’t stray far. His gaze weighs upon her, and he stares at her with such serious determination in his eyes. Perhaps this really does resemble a kind of mission for him. 

“Breathe, Nora,” he whispers, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

Nora obeys his command. His tone whips her into shape. She stops fisting their sheets, and she takes two deep, calming breaths. 

“Who taught you how to do that?” She asks, bewildered. 

Danse smirks. “I have heard my fair share of stories aboard the Prydwen.” 

Nora takes him by the hand and pulls him more on top of her. She tugs him close, leaning upward to hover her lips over his. She whispers, “Show me what else you’ve learned over the years.” 

In this moment, they throw almost all of their caution to the wind. They take the necessary steps to prevent pregnancy; Danse truly manages to always plan for anything, to her amusement. 

After they become joined, Nora realizes that she doesn’t care what happens next. All of her nerves become fried to a crisp, as if struck by lightning. They fuck, senselessly, and she can tell that he needed this, to lose his senses, to drop his guard, to discard his inhibitions. His scarred body smothers her, large, heavy, and Nora relishes this weight upon her. He pounds into her hard, straining to keep his control in check. They want this to last, for an evening to be as close to eternity as possible. 

First, they face one another, staring into each other’s eyes like lovers, kissing, exploring, touching tenderly. Then, she orders him to take her harder, to stop treating her like a doll. Danse has always been a man to follow orders; he takes her from behind, driving into her fast. She imagines them inside of Maxson’s office, Danse fucking her over the elder’s desk while he’s away on business, and it turns her legs into jello. Nora doesn’t keep silent; she doesn’t care what he’ll think of her tomorrow upon recollection of this moment. Perhaps he’ll be completely shocked by her vulgarity and her little pornographic moans--or maybe they’ll settle deep enough into his heart to haunt him at opportune moments, and he’ll be thankful power armor isn’t skin tight. 

They take a break after midnight, laying together in bed. To Nora, it’s as close to domestic as perhaps they’ll ever get. Legs intertwined, hands brushing shyly as they share a box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes Danse had in his pack for a special occasion. For the first time in months she feels a sense of place--something that for her is not tied to any geographic point. The space she finds in his arms--warm, welcome, wanted--there lies the place where she belongs. 

They eat in comfortable silence, and Nora finds the smile upon his scarred face endearing. She kisses his cheek, whispers affections into his ear, and then takes the box of snacks from him to place it on the bedside table. Nora rolls onto him, leans down for a kiss, and takes him once more. This time, she can feel him deeper, and each upward thrust makes her toes curl. Her neck cranes, baring herself to him, and her shoulder-length brown hair falls lower down her back. He holds her by the hips while her body sways up and down, his eyes unable to look away.

**x X x X x**

Afterward, they take another shower and clean up. Danse pulls on his boxers and she puts on her briefs. He crawls back into bed while she checks the time on her pip-boy: 1:30 AM. Then, she joins him and curls up against him.

They lay beside one another on the queen sized bed with their hands joined between them. Danse strokes the back of her hand with his thumb while staring up at the plain metal ceiling. His heart has stopped racing, but new anxieties settle into his bones as he thinks about the time. 

In roughly four hours, they would normally wake up, have a small breakfast of canned food or perhaps something cooked, and then they would head out into the wasteland once more. Today they will leave this vault and rejoin the rest of the Commonwealth. He can’t just fall into a blissful sleep despite how tired their evening has made him, and he suspects that Nora can’t sleep either. 

Nora rolls onto her side, places her warm palm against his chest, and runs her fingers through his dark chest hair. Their eyes meet, green to brown, and Danse realizes she’s on the brink of tears. 

“Nora--” He tries to protest, to sit up and ask what’s wrong, but her hand remains firm.

“Danse,” she murmurs, “I-I tried not to think about it. Really, I did… as much as I wish we could just stay in this moment forever, I need you to listen to me. I just want you to know that I understand that later on, when we leave this room, the vault…” 

Nora takes a deep breath, leaving him in suspense. 

“I know once we head back into the Commonwealth we will never be able to speak of this. I know this was just a one time thing. I know nothing will ever be able to come of this. I don’t want you to agonize over this; it happened, but I’m not expecting anything further. Blame it on confined spaces, if you need something to blame. Just don’t beat yourself up over this. You don’t have to apologize for what we did--I wanted it.” 

“Nora, I…” 

A lump forms in his throat. His tongue becomes as heavy as lead. Danse wants to quell her fears, to tell her she has nothing to worry about, to confirm once and for all that he loves her. But nothing coherent comes out; it all stays on the tip of his tongue, barred by his own fears. Expulsion, abandonment, and most significantly, ultimate, violent loss. He didn’t expect for this conversation to happen so soon, let alone for it to be started by her. What happened to her fire, her will to fight? 

“I respect you too much to put you any further into an unwinnable situation. You are a stalwart member of the Brotherhood and I will not jeopardize that.” 

Danse wants to throw the rulebook aside. Never before has he felt such a desire for direct violations of codes of conduct and ethics. Only Nora Prescott could help him conceive a self-ideation of himself where he would gladly discard his affiliation to the Brotherhood in order to swear fealty to her. He wants to be hers and hers alone. His loyalty bound with her, a bond forged in steel they crafted together. 

“I love you too much to make you choose,” she murmurs, “I do not regret confessing my feelings to you, nor do I regret what we shared tonight. I mean that.” 

Nora seals this promise with a kiss. One that is far too brief, too fleeting. In that moment he sees the house in Sanctuary Hills, he sees them living together, smiling, laughing, dancing in her kitchen to Diamond City Radio. 

“I think the Commonwealth needs it’s finest Paladin more. I can’t be selfish. I would rather be your partner, your knight, and your friend than nothing at all.”

Nora’s words penetrate through his thoughts like armor-piercing bullets. Danse sits up, and he realizes she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dressing herself back into her flannel shirt and jeans. She can’t even meet his eyes. 

Suddenly Danse’s heart pounds painfully in his chest. His stomach flips and ties into knots. He has to stop her. Their lives don’t have to be like this--they can’t end up like this, doomed to fail. There has to be more. 

“Nora, _wait,_ please.” 

“Danse, don’t--”

He takes her by the forearm and pulls her back into bed. Nora sits next to him, looking away, her eyes downcast towards the door. He has to inspire her to fight, not as a soldier, but as the man who loves her. 

“Nora I don’t want us to pretend nothing ever happened.”

“We can’t keep this a secret and you know that.” 

“We can, I know we can. You have my back and I have yours. We can work through this, together. We don’t have to pretend. We’re stronger when we’re together. I believe that, and I believe Elder Maxson understands that.” 

“You want to tell him about this?!”

“No, of course not…” Danse frowns. 

He crushes her to his broad chest, arms tightly wound around her, eyes shut tight. All thoughts focus on the fantasy in his mind, the redecorated home, them fighting side by side, stronger together. 

“Nothing has to change, regardless of what happened. We keep fighting, looking for your son. We protect one another.” 

Danse knows deep in his heart that everything has changed. Loving Nora is like having fire in his veins; it’s part of his makeup now, it’s part of who he is as both soldier and man. 

“You want to keep this private, between us?” Nora cups his cheek. “You’re okay with that, Danse?”

“I am.” Danse isn’t sure if he really is one hundred percent okay with it, but the alternative… “I want you to know that I meant what I said last night. All of it. I care for you, and I do not want to return to our duties with you thinking that everything I shared was said out of impulsiveness, not truth.” He takes both of her hands in his, squeezing each. “I want you to know that when I look at you, that I do love you, without doubt.” 

Nora pulls him forward and kisses him with force. Danse blushes, and the anxieties he felt moments before evaporate like water on a hot day. When they pull apart, their noses brush together, and they smile at one another. 

“We should get some sleep,” Nora whispers. “As much as I dislike this vault, the bed is comfortable.” 

Danse nods. He agrees with her, to an extent. This vault, it’s less the bed, and more her company, that helps him fall asleep with ease for the first time in years.

**x X x X x**

They leave the vault the next morning after recollecting the third member of their trio: Dogmeat. Luckily, he wasn’t lonely in the Vault. According to the vault children, Dogmeat played with them and then slept in Erin’s room next to Ashes the cat. They say goodbye to everyone and thank Overseer McNamara one last time for her hospitality. They promise to return with supplies for Mrs. Penske and other trinkets they collect along their travels.

Nora never thought over forty-eight hours ago that she and Danse would have come together as they have thanks to a vault. She would have laughed at the absurdity. Instead, what they shared in the vault really did happen, and they really have made a vow to be together, if in secret, if in private. 

Nothing has changed on the macro level. As the weeks pass, they fall back into their routine with ease. They follow up on leads about Shaun’s whereabouts. They look after Minutemen settlements. They pass through Diamond City to see Piper, who they worry surely knows given the playful quirk in her brow. She never makes a comment about whether she knows or not. Instead, Nick knows. He tells her that he’s happy for them. 

_If anyone in the Commonwealth could earn Paladin Danse’s affections, I knew it would be you, Nora. I’m happy for you. I think Nathan would be too. Your secret’s safe with me._

On the micro level, everything has changed. They share glances that last longer than they should. Their armored hands sometimes brush together as they wander the wasteland alone with Dogmeat as their only witness. They place their bedrolls closer to each other, sleeping close, with Dogmeat at their feet. If it were for having to sleep in run-down barns, dirty garages, and ransacked businesses, their time resting together almost feels domestic to Nora. 

They take a risk in an abandoned home on their way to the Glowing Sea--they give in to their desires, needing one another before diving into the unknowns of the Commonwealth’s most dangerous region in search of an ex-Institute scientist by the name of Virgil. With borrowed power armor and a bag full of RadAway, they’re as prepared as they can be for the radiation levels in the Glowing Sea, but they’re still afraid. 

It’s the best sex Nora has had in years, and she makes sure to tell him. In that little shack, with just the two of them (they had to leave Dogmeat behind in Sanctuary to protect him from external radiation), Nora realizes that she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. She doesn’t know if the practice is still common, but she would agree to marry him if he asked. She would happily wear two wedding rings. 

They argue, still, debating over the campfire about Commonwealth politics. They have their fights. Danse didn’t like discovering that Virgil was a supermutant after wandering all that way into the irradiated Glowing Sea. To an extent, she understood. The FEV took Cutler from him. But it didn’t excuse being cold and threatening to their best way into the Institute. To Nora, working with and trusting a supermutant is a necessary risk. 

Eventually, they return to the Prydwen after discovering the secrets of getting inside of the Institute. While on board, Nora and Danse keep their distance. They speak only when necessary. Nora treats it seriously, for his sake. She gives Elder Maxson no reason to question them. She even treats him with respect, to the Elder’s surprise, as she offers details about how to enter the elusive Institute. The three disagree over who should help build the relay; Nora insists upon the Minutemen, much to Danse and Maxson’s disapproval.

“I appreciate your willingness to offer resources, Maxson, but if the Brotherhood enters the Institute this early into the game, you all will rush in, gun’s blazing. We won’t be able to receive any intelligence about what their plans are if they have no opportunity to reveal their hand. No offense, but this is a task that requires delicacy, not brute force. I will pass on information I recover to the Brotherhood, if that’s any consolation, but my first priority is to find my son. The rest of the Commonwealth could burn for all I care…” She trails off, realizing perhaps her tone has become too harsh. “If you want information about the Institute, then you send me in, alone, and I find my son. Once I have safely secured him, I will bring him back to Sanctuary; from there, I will exchange all intelligence I uncover to the Brotherhood.” 

“Fine,” Maxson concedes. “But take heed, Knight. While the Brotherhood thanks you for your loyal service, remember the bigger picture. If your personal problems jeopardize the Brotherhood or the future of the Commonwealth at large, I will take action against the Minutemen to secure the relay.”

The icy words settle deep, and Nora bites down her comments. She’s earned Elder Maxson’s trust in this manner, even if the foundation for such rests on shaky ground. 

After the meeting, Nora and Danse leave Maxson’s quarters in silence. They have but a moment of privacy in the empty hall before the stairs leading down to the crew deck. She brushes her hand against his, tentative and uncertain, because she needs his support, too. Not just as a soldier falling into line, obeying his commander’s orders, but as a man putting his faith into her. To her surprise, Danse takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. The reciprocal gesture is all the lifeline she needs. 

They head to the mess hall and find Scribe Haylen along the way, and they eat dinner with her that evening. Nora wonders if Haylen can tell. As the three of them enjoy a bowl of warm clam chowder soup, Nora notices that the younger woman seems happier. 

“You look like you’ve been sleeping better, Danse.”

“Affirmative,” he says after taking a drink from his glass. To Nora, he seems completely indifferent (or perhaps oblivious) to the potential implications in his friend’s comment. 

Nora feels eyes on her. She glances up from her bowl of dinner and sees Haylen looking at her with an even wider smile upon her face. Thankfully, however, Haylen seems to know better than to pry. The scribe changes the subject to missions she has gone on with Knight Rhys and other Brotherhood soldiers. 

Luckily, Haylen is the only person aboard the Prydwen who manages to read between the lines. After dinner, Nora and Danse part ways to head to their respective quarters. Nora pulls Haylen aside and doesn’t beat around the bush. There’s no point trying to play stupid or trying to deny what her friend saw. 

“Please don’t say anything to anyone. Don’t even tell Danse that you know.”

“I promise I won’t tell.” Haylen hugs her, tight. “I just want you to know, Prescott, that I’m really happy for you both. He looks so much healthier. Happier. In the Commonwealth, that’s rare. I’ve worked with Danse for a long time, and I know there’s no better man in the Brotherhood.”

“Thanks, Haylen. I appreciate that.” 

Even if they cannot be open about their relationship, at least Danse’s closest friend approves. Small comforts amidst rocky seas.

**x X x X x**

They spend another day aboard the Prydwen before heading out begin gathering the necessary resources to build the relay. To Danse, the Prydwen used to always feel like home, not the Capital Wasteland where he was born. But now, this feeling has changed. Home no longer is a place, it’s a person: Nora Prescott. Being more than arm’s length from her is harder than he thought it would be when they made their agreement to continue their relationship in private. When they left the bridge after speaking with Elder Maxson, holding her hand, even for a moment, felt so scandalous but also so right, so necessary to his being.

Nora checks up on the progress on her power armor’s repairs with Ingram, who tells her that the suit won’t be fixed for about another two weeks, while Danse has his own armor repaired. The Mirelurk Queen did a number on hers. There’s no rush, at this rate, for Ingram to finish on Nora’s armor. She won’t be wearing a suit into the Institute, anyways, and though the thought unsettles Danse, it’s for the best. Entering enemy territory, blatantly donning a symbol of an enemy of the Institute would go poorly for her. 

Danse will miss the Prydwen, but the sense of homesickness he felt during the days leading Gladius Squad has diminished. 

When they leave the Prydwen, however, a wave of dread washes over Danse. As they walk out of Boston Airport, he glances over his shoulder, back at the Prydwen as the zeppelin hovers in the sky. He doesn’t know why it feels like this is the last time he’ll ever see it again.


	4. Love, Which Permits No Loved One Not To Love

The molecular relay takes one month to build, with the majority of the time spent on actual construction. Sturges leads the team, ordering Nora’s companions and the settlers of Sanctuary Hills to help. Tall electrical pylons form on the western horizon of the small town like bad omens. 

To Danse, each announcement of progress at their group dinner by Sturges immediately makes him lose his appetite.  
In turn, progress brings Nora temporary relief. Each day that passes without the relay taxes her patience and leaves her restless. Everyone knows all she wants is to see her son again. 

Nora hasn’t yet officially told her companions about their relationship, which he can understand. 

_I suspect they all already know, but I’d rather not confirm it at this time, in case a settler overhears. I don’t want word of our relationship getting out to the Brotherhood._

So Danse keeps a low profile, which is hard, because he’s never been a man to sneak around in the shadows like some kind of criminal or fugitive. Keeping secrets has never been a strength of his, but for Nora’s sake, he tries. 

When it’s just the two of them, laying in her newly furnished bedroom courtesy of Codsworth, Danse has a hard time feeling anything but guilt. Codsworth found an old picture of her and Nathan under the weathered rug, and now the photo rests in a frame on her dresser.

_You shouldn’t feel awkward about it, really. Nathan told me that if something ever happened, that he would want me to be happy. Being with you makes me happy. For what it’s worth, I think Nate would have liked you. I mean, like, liked you. As in I think he would have found you pretty attractive too. I’m serious! Nathan and I were both bisexual, and we knew each of us had crushes on our peers in high school before we got married._

Imagining her husband wanting him too doesn’t make their situation any less awkward, at first. Then, Nora begins to tell him stories about her late husband. Everything she can remember about their years dating, their marriage, and the time during the Sino-American War that took Nathan from her for several years. She shares intimate details about their marriage, everything from Nathan’s struggles with PTSD to describing the dreams they used to share. She shares, not out of guilt or a quest to revive old nostalgia. She shares because it’s important for her to keep his memory alive. 

Sometimes, they talk about the status of Minutemen settlements and future plans for development around Sanctuary. Sometimes, they fall into bed and make love. Sometimes, Danse holds her and lets her cry on his shoulder as she expresses her fears. He wishes he could calm her nerves. He wishes he had the words that could bring her peace and comfort during this time. Instead, every time he opens his mouth he tries, the words form on the tip of his tongue but are never spoken. He’s as much afraid of the Institute as her. 

Eventually, after hearing so many stories and even sharing a few of his own from Recon Squad Gladius, Danse feels less awkward. Less like an imposter standing in the place where Nathan Prescott should be; he feels a sense of belonging he has only ever felt with the Brotherhood. 

Nora takes him to the vault, one day. They walk up the winding path up the hill behind her home until they reach the top. The remains of Vault-Tec’s construction reminds him of the ruins in the Glowing Sea--preserved witnesses to the destruction that took place over two hundred years ago. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Danse asks while she stands before the terminal that will reactivate the elevator platform. “If you would rather see him alone…” 

“No. I want you to meet him.” 

They walk to the platform and then stand together. Nora types a code onto her pip-boy, and then the elevator screeches to life. The jolt causes her to lose her balance, but Danse catches her. She doesn’t move, doesn’t hit the switch to lower them down into the vault. When he looks down into her eyes to see what’s wrong, she appears dazed, lost in a trance as she stares off at the southern horizon. 

Then, truth hits him. Nora hasn’t stood here since that day. 

“Nora, I don’t think--”

“When we heard on the news that bombs had dropped onto the capital, I stood there in front of the TV completely in shock. Everything inside of me had shut down. All I could think about is my research into the Cold War of the twentieth century. All those people who thought nuclear annihilation was just around the corner. It could happen at any day, strike at any moment. Back then, tensions had been so high. Doom seemed far more imminent to them than it felt to me in the twenty-first century.” 

Danse swallows hard. He can’t even imagine what that day must have been like. All he can do is hold her hand. 

“I realized in that moment that history is filled with bad omens. Warnings for the future. You think when you study history that you’ll never really be apart of it, not really. You do your research, you publish your papers, you earn acclaim or maybe you don’t. I never thought I would bear witness to the destruction of the United States, I never thought I would actually become a casualty of history. A statistic in a textbook to be written someday. Everything inside of me just broke.

“Nathan managed to pull me out of it. He had grabbed Shaun while I just stood there waiting for the end. He took the time to shake me out of my stupor, and he told me we had to run. I am thankful for his military experience, because I had frozen completely. If not for him I would have probably died in my household in the fallout. So we ran, left everything behind. The Vault-Tec van was still outside. We ran up that hill and Nathan explained we were on the list to be allowed into the vault. I thought, selfishly, about how we were so lucky, _so god damn lucky,_ that the Vault-Tec rep had turned in our paperwork. We were let in, and it was like something out of the _Twilight Zone_. I looked over and saw over my shoulder that same representative and my neighbors watching as we ran to the platform that would take us--not them--to safety. It didn’t seem fair. It wasn’t fair.” 

“You were experimented upon in this vault.” 

“Yeah, but no one knew that except Vault-Tec.” 

“You can’t let yourself feel guilt over what happened. You had no control over it. You didn’t drop the bombs, you didn’t control who was let into the vault. If your entire neighborhood had been let in, perhaps you all would have eventually dief in the ration shortages like the ones you described…” 

Nora doesn’t acknowledge his words and instead keeps reliving that day. 

“So we stood here, waiting. No one knew how much time we had before Boston was hit.” 

Nora points ahead of her, and Danse watches tears spill from her glassy green eyes. 

“We saw the bomb detonate, hitting southern Boston. A blinding flash that lasted for just a moment. Then, a loud, thundering boom. The mushroom cloud rose up into the sky, blocking out the sun--it was essentially a new sun. Then came the wall of fallout and debris racing towards us. The military soldiers shouted for the platform to drop, and it did, just in the nick of time before fallout rained on us. We were safe.” Nora falls quiet and hits the switch. The elevator starts to move down to take them to the vault. “It was the longest, slowest elevator ride of my life.” 

“I’m so sorry, Nora. I know what it’s like feeling this kind of guilt. Wondering if you should have died instead of others.” Speaking of his own feelings has never been easy, but he has to try. Nothing he can say can take away this pain, not really, but he has to try no matter how futile. “Knight-Captain Cade says it’s something common he sees in the Brotherhood.” 

“Living among the Brotherhood, being apart of the Minutemen… it’s helped me understand more of what Nathan was going through when he talked about Alaska or just day to day episodes. I suppose I have Vault-Tec and the Commonwealth to thank for that.”

When the elevator reaches the bottom, darkness greets them. Nora takes a deep, shaky breath and then illuminates the metal ramps leading up to the vault door with her pip-boy’s green glow. She activates the door with her pip-boy, but before she can step inside, Danse stops her by grabbing her hand. Nora turns back to look at him, her eyes dull, her shoulders sagged. He pulls her close, enveloping her in his arms, and Nora rests her head in the crook of his neck.

“You’re sure about this?”

Nora nods against his shoulder, unable to speak. When she draws away, Danse keeps holding her hand to keep them both grounded. 

They enter the innards of the vault and walk through the staff’s quarters. The vault reminds him, in some ways, of Vault 81, but more stripped down. Colder. Darker. Barren. The Commonwealth feels more hospitable than this place. 

Danse knows when he’s walking on hallowed ground. He has never been a man to care for religion. He certainly doesn’t know if he believes in God. But something about this place feels off. Like the living shouldn’t walk here. Only the dead remain. 

They pass through an automatic door, meeting an icy blast of air, and enter the cryo chambers. Hallways of cryogenic pods. Only a handful of survivors from her neighborhood made it down to the vault, but it’s clear that Vault-Tec had plans to house--the thought of storing people here like frozen meat disgusts him--at least fifty people. 

“I feel like Virgil leading Dante into Hell.” 

Danse raises a brow. He doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

“Dante Alighieri, an Italian writer from the late Middle Ages. It’s from… well, nearly over a millenia ago, actually. Jesus, that’s hard to believe.” 

Danse doesn’t question why now of all times she’d be referencing some dead pre-war poet. Whatever brings her some semblance of peace. 

“He wrote three epic poems in an anthology called _The Divine Comedy._ You should read it, I have a copy that survived the war. There’s three parts to it, _Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso._ I only ever read _Inferno_ \--call me a casual, but I could only get into that part of the trilogy. The poem’s about how Dante travels into Hell with the guidance of Virgil, an old Roman poet. Virgil essentially plays a glorified tour guide as they wander through the nine layers of Hell. Along the way, they witness sinners damned for eternity for various cardinal sins: Lust, Envy, Wrath, Gluttony, to name a few. I always loved it because historical figures and Dante’s contemporaries he disliked were mentioned in the poem.” 

Nora stops before a cryo pod, and Danse comes to stand beside her. He looks into the pod and sees a frosted woman, frozen in time, deceased, Nora explains, due to malfunctions with the pods. 

“We were all supposed to survive the war and wake up some undesignated time in the future. I’m the only one who made it.” Nora sighs. “The last layer of Hell is called Cocytus. It’s a frozen lake, where sinners damned to this layer are frozen forever in their agony. Those damned there are traitors, frauds, oathbreakers.” Her hand falls from the cryo pod’s window. “I can’t help but find some degree of irony in this. These people, my neighbors, my community… they’re down here, frozen like those in the ninth layer, but they weren’t frauds. Vault-Tec was the fraud. They lied to us. They betrayed our trust, and they tricked all those people who couldn’t get into the vault by making them think we were somehow spared from destruction. That somehow they weren’t a member of the chosen few. Everyone in this vault, and everyone left behind, they all suffered in their death, not knowing the truth.” 

Nora walks ahead, to one cryo pod over. Danse watches her carefully as she reaches out and touches the button to activate the pod. The door lifts, slowly, and then Danse sees him. Nathaniel Prescott, her husband. Frozen in his grief, with blood on his vault jumpsuit and Kellogg’s bullet still wedged in his chest. A golden wedding band still rests on his ring finger. Nathan died trying to save his son from kidnappers. He was a soldier and a husband, but he died a father. 

“This is the first time I’ve seen him since the day I woke up,” Nora says, her lip trembling, her voice unsteady. “God, Nathan.” 

Nora crumbles before him, and all Danse can do is hold her while she sobs. He holds her tight, as tight as he can. He feels her grief as if it’s something tangible between them, and it’s because through Nora, he knows Nathan. It doesn’t matter if they’ve never really met, he respects Nathan’s memory and what he means to Nora. 

When she pulls away, Nora rubs at her eyes and gives him a weak smile. “Thank you for coming down here with me. I couldn’t do this alone.” 

Danse nods and squeezes her shoulder. He finds he can’t speak without feeling choked up himself. “Take all the time you need.” 

“I… I actually have a rather grim request, Danse. You can tell me no and I’ll completely understand, so please speak from the heart.”

“Alright.” 

“I want to give Nate and everyone down here a proper burial. I think they deserve to feel the warmth of the sun again. I want them out of these jumpsuits. They deserve better than this. I want to be able to visit Nathan again. If…” she swallows thickly, “When I find Shaun again, I want him to visit his father’s grave properly.”

Danse doesn’t hesitate. “Nora I’d be honored to help.” 

Despite their environment, Nora smiles. It isn’t forced, it isn’t half-hearted. “Thank you, Danse. You have no idea how much it means to me.” 

“I would do anything for you.”

Deep in his heart, Danse knows this to be true.

**x X x X x**

With the help of Danse and her close friends, it takes a week of hard labor and long hours to finish the task of moving the bodies. Nora only lets Danse help her dress her husband in fresh (old) clothes. They dig Nathan’s grave together, and Nora knows she couldn’t have done this alone.

At the end of the month, they finish the burying all of the innocent vault occupants at the base of the hill near the creek. It’s a beautiful sight for Nora, who hopes Nathan will appreciate the clear, unobstructed view of the stars he loved so much. 

They have a ceremony for each family. Couples are buried next to one another. The Smiths, the Reyes, the Andersons. They were all military families (that was what allowed them access into the vault in the first place) so Danse improvises with something fitting for the veterans. It’s not military honors the U.S. government would have provided, but that’s fine for Nora. She doesn’t want anything to do with the old ways of doing things. These veterans all thought they were receiving something special, a reward for their service, with access to the vault. They don’t even have the luxury of caskets in this day and age. They deserved better. 

During the Sino-American War, Nathan wrote letters to her. In one such letter, he described what he would want if he died while away in Alaska. At the time, the subject of Nathan’s death upset her deeply, so much so that she almost burned the letter. Now, centuries later, she’s thankful that he shared with her what he would have wanted. Thus, Nora recites the poem Nathan wished for her to read at his funeral, having memorized it so long ago as a way to cope with missing him. Nathan always enjoyed World War I history, and so, in that letter, he asked her to read “Dreamers” by poet Siegfried Sassoon:

_Soldiers are citizens of death's grey land,_  
Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows.  
In the great hour of destiny they stand,  
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.  
Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win  
Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.  
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin  
They think of firelit homes, clean beds and wives. 

_I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,_  
And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,  
Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats,  
And mocked by hopeless longing to regain  
Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,  
And going to the office in the train. 

When Nora finishes, Danse recites the Brotherhood of Steel’s burial mantra. It’s touching to her, despite all of her disagreements with the Brotherhood’s beliefs. The ceremony gives her a sense of closure.

Closure she knows she will need for the next part of her journey. The next day, Sturges tells her the molecular relay is finished.

**x X x X x**

Watching Nora step onto the relay’s platform, alone, is like having a knife plunged into his stomach. He should be right beside her, ready to go into the jaws of Death and protect her. Instead, he stands amongst Dogmeat, Garvey, Piper, MacCready, and Valentine below the platform. They look upon her as Sturges sets up the final controls for the machine before she takes off into the unknown. He can’t follow her into lion’s den.

“Don’t have too much fun without me, Danse,” she says with a half-hearted smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s scared and they all can see it. “Take care of yourself and Dogmeat while I’m gone. Be a good boy, okay, Dogmeat?”

Dogmeat whines at his feet, and Danse can echo the sentiment too. His stomach churns with anxiety. His heart stutters painfully in his chest, and his thoughts race, conflicting with one another. He admires her bravery; he’s sure she’s making a mistake going in unarmed. He’s hopeful for her that she will find her son; he’s worried she won’t like what she finds, the Institute is known for its chilling cruelty. He wants to order Sturges to let him follow after her once she teleports away; he’s absolutely terrified of the Institute in ways he has been afraid ever in his life. The mere thought of entering the Institute shakes his confidence. Danse would rather face ten Deathclaws.

“Nora…” 

The three words stop abruptly in his throat. He panics internally. Why can’t he say the words aloud? Why can’t he throw all caution to the wind and say what she needs to hear, regardless of the company? The Institute may very well swallow her whole. Anything could happen. He may never see her again. It’s with that thought that he gains the courage to say what lies in his heart. 

“I love you.” 

Nora waves goodbye, her smile mysterious. Hope shines in her green eyes despite her tears. 

“I know,” she says. 

Then, in a flash of light, she’s gone.


	5. Love Led Us To One Death

Seven days pass, the longest week in his life. On the eighth day, she returns from the underworld, a changed woman.

**x X x**

“Danse! Paladin Danse! She’s back!”

Danse tears himself away from his power armor after hearing Garvey shout from outside the barn. He drops everything--his tool, his welding helmet--and he runs into the storm outside. He moves past Garvey to return to the relay platform. Danse finds Nora Prescott kneeling on the platform, emptying her guts into a bucket while Piper rubs her back. The rest of her friends huddle behind Piper, but they step aside once Danse moves into the area. 

“Give her a second, big guy. I don’t think she has her bearings just yet,” Piper tells him. 

Danse looks her over as best as he can from his position. No bandages, no blood stains. Afflicted by nothing other than extreme motion sickness, likely, her particles did just recompress back together after all. 

Nora finishes vomiting and nudges the bucket away, gagging at the smell. Valentine offers her his handkerchief, which she takes to wipe her mouth with. 

“How’re you feeling, Nora? You ready for tall, dark, and handsome here to sweep you off your feet?” 

Danse doesn’t even care that her friends know at this point. He doesn’t care if they tease. He kneels down to help her up, offering his hand, but Nora doesn’t move. She meets his gaze, utters his name, and then gets up on her own in a hurry. His brows purse, and he stands, confused. Before any of them can say a word, Nora walks away, her footsteps squelching in the mud. She walks up the main street of Sanctuary and goes to her old home, where she opens the door and disappears. 

“Something’s wrong. Very wrong,” Nick says while pulling the cigarette stub from his synthetic lips. For a machine, he sounds worried. “I get the feeling it’s not a result of the materialization.” 

“Oh, God, what if it’s her son?” Piper asks, incredulous. “Jesus, I hope…” 

No one can say it aloud. 

“High probability, I’m afraid.” Nick scowls. “Institute bastards.”

To Danse’s surprise, the bitterness and sorrow on his synthetic features looks very real. Genuine. 

“You should go talk to her, Danse,” Piper suggests. “Find out what happened and be there for her.” 

Danse nods and leaves. Rain falls heavy all around him, soaking his Brotherhood fatigues quickly. He reaches her home, knocks, but hears no reply. His heart hammers in fear and anger. He can easily guess what horrors she encountered in the Institute. If he finds out they did _anything_ to hurt her, to her son, he will fire up that relay somehow, someway, and he’ll personally raise that place until it burns. Until every last member of the Institute is dead. 

Danse enters her home. Codsworth has helped rebuild and renovate for her while she travels. The home reminds him of Nora in many ways: warm, welcoming, brightly colored--or at least as bright as the Commonwealth can become in its dull hues. They have limited paint options, after all. She has a semblance of a kitchen, a sitting area with one couch and a radio. He takes a left and heads down the hall, past the small bathroom to find her not in her bedroom to the left, but instead… 

To the right, in Shaun’s old room. 

Danse finds Nora sitting in the middle of the old withered blue rug that has now-faded constellations on it. She’s sobbing quietly and holding onto an old stuffed teddy bear dressed in moth-chewed baby clothes. Dogmeat rests beside her, his head against her leg. 

Danse drops to his knees and wraps his arms around her waist from behind. He holds her firmly, and she rests against him limp as a ragdoll. Dogmeat whines in worry. 

“What happened?” He murmurs. “Nora, did they hurt you--” 

“No,” she utters. “They didn’t.”

“Nora, whatever happened, you can tell me.” 

“No, I can’t. You don’t understand.” 

What could possibly have happened inside the Institute that she’s afraid to tell him? Nora can trust him, can’t she, when it comes to matters of the Commonwealth’s boogeyman? 

“I can’t understand unless you try to explain. I can’t help if I don’t know what I’m up against.” 

She falls silent, her sobs abruptly coming to a halt. She turns in his arms slightly, and she meets his gaze. 

Danse has never seen her this shaken nor this frightened before. Cheeks tear stained, eyes puffy and red, lip quivering violently, devastation marking her features.

“Nora,” he says, pleading for her to listen, “trust me. Whatever’s happened…” 

“Shaun is the leader of the Institute.” 

Danse purses his brows. Did she hit her head at some point? “That’s absurd, your son was just a child when you saw him in Kellogg’s--”

“Apparently more time has passed than I thought,” she says softly. “Shaun… h-he’s older now. An old man.” 

With a firm hand upon her shoulder, Danse steadies Nora. Calmly, he says, “Explain what happened from the beginning.” 

Nora sighs. “I entered the Institute fine. A little sickness, but nothing like earlier. I wandered the halls until I… until I…”

Nora immediately shuts down. Instead of bursting into tears, there’s nothing in her expression. No sadness, no anger, no life. She stares past him, dazed, and then she starts shaking. 

“What happened, Nora?” He asks with a frown. 

Everyone in the Commonwealth fears the Institute, even the Brotherhood. Nora, however, always seemed unaffected by the underlying menace in the rumors. She scoffed at the idea that the Institute served as the Commonwealth’s boogeyman. Often, she would help runaway synths they came across instead of giving them a bullet they deserved. She always strove forward into battle with her head held high, for a woman who a year ago recoiled at the sound of gunfire. She stood without fear on the relay platform when they sent her there. What could have happened inside the Institute that it would affect her like this? 

“A man’s voice came over the speakers and began to guide me along. He called himself Father. He knew everything about me. He knew why I was there, and he said I would find what I had been searching for. He told me to have an open mind, and then he talked about what the Institute believes...” She sighs. “And then, he fell quiet. I walked into a room and sitting there in a glass cage was a boy who looked to be ten years old. He had curly auburn hair and green eyes. Freckles like mine.” 

Her son? Shaun? Then why did she say he was an old man, if he…

“All my rational thought was gone. I needed to get him out. I needed to save him. I-I tried speaking with him, telling him it was me, mommy, that I was going to help him get out of the Institute. He started panicking, telling me that he didn’t know who I was. That he wanted his father, that he was scared of me. I tried to explain that daddy wasn’t there but that Nathan loves him. He started screaming for help. I thought maybe he was disoriented. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize me because he was taken from me as a baby. I started looking around, and I couldn’t find a button to release him from his prison. I was about to break the glass with the butt of my gun but then…”

Nora trails off and fresh tears spill from her eyes. 

“An old man came into the room and recited the words ‘Shaun, S9-23, recall code Cirrus.’”

Danse blinks in shock. For a moment, the words don’t register, and then, anger consumes him. 

“Are you telling me they made a _synth_ of your son?”

“The old man who walked in was Father, and he proclaimed to be my real son, Shaun Prescott. He said the young boy was an experiment, a test for me and for himself. The Institute wanted to see how we both would interact in this simulation to extreme emotional stimuli.” 

“An experiment?!” Danse holds her by the shoulders and can’t believe what he’s hearing. “He tortures you with a facsimile and he has the gall to call it an _experiment?_ ” 

“Danse, you aren’t listening. Take a breath and listen to what I’m saying.” 

Danse doesn’t understand how she can be so calm, when only moments ago she was in despair. 

“It was my son. It was _Shaun_. Sixty years have passed since he was kidnapped by Kellogg. The boy I saw in Kellogg’s memory was not Shaun, but the synth boy. Kellogg lived an extended life due to advancements in the Institute’s biotechnology. The Institute raised my son… and, I’m not just saying this as a mother, but he’s brilliant. Smart. Clever. He has Nate’s knack for science and math, but he cares nothing for history. He thinks in the future, not the present.” 

Danse purses his brows. “Why did the Institute take him?” 

Now, any semblance of pride disappears quickly. To an extent, Danse can understand the mood swings; Sturges warned that the relay can ‘scramble your brains like none other.’ She has gone through a series of traumatic experiences. 

Danse can’t imagine what it’s like to have your entire understanding of the world come shattering down around you. 

“In 2227, the Institute had made great strides in synth production, but they needed clean, untouched DNA to make their so-called perfect human machines. The Institute too had become affected by radiation over time, and they could no longer look to themselves or the greater Commonwealth for specimen. They began searching Vault-Tec’s records. They found Vault 111 and it’s directive--cyro stasis. They took Shaun because his DNA was uncorrupted by radiation and he was relatively healthy, by their standards. Nate and I were supposed to remain in stasis, as… back-ups. Nate stood in their way, and thus, they killed him. They needed to keep me alive, in turn, so I was refrozen.” 

Nora clenches her hands into fists. “Shaun didn’t even care that his own father had tried to save him.” She scoffs bitterly. “Instead, Shaun ‘wished’ Kellogg had used other means to incapacitate him, but overall was grateful that Kellogg did take him as a baby.” 

“God, Nora. I’m so sorry.” 

“Nathan loved Shaun so much,” Nora laments, her eyes closing in pain. “When he came back from Alaska, sometimes I think the only thing that kept him going was the responsibility he felt towards being a husband and a father. While I was pregnant, Nathan did everything he could to get help for the PTSD and his depression. He took medication to get better. He went to group therapy down at the Veteran’s Hall in Concord. We started going out more. He never drank, but he was very burdened by stress and anxiety. He was stressing about finding a job to help pay the bills--inflation was so horrible back then, you see, my work at the university barely allowed us to break even. He was afraid of being a father, so worried he was too broken to be a good one. At the same time he wanted it so badly, because he wanted to give Shaun as happy of a family as possible. 

“We decorated this room with a space theme because Nathan loved the stars. When Shaun was born, we named him after Nathan’s brother who died in Russia at the Siberian front. We used to climb up onto the roof of this house and sit together as a family. Nate would point out constellations he saw, and I knew that just like his own father had taught him, he wanted to teach Shaun about space.” Nora scoffs. “Instead, our son grew up underground. He’s never seen the night sky, and he has none of the memories we have of him. He doesn’t know anything about his father, his real father. He doesn’t know how much Nate wanted him, needed him, and… and it’s like Nathan’s died all over again. All this has done is underscore how meaningless him and I are, how trivial our lives are. We were just backups. I only exist here in this time because the Institute preserved my life. If Nathan knew what had happened to Shaun, if it had been him who came out of the vault, seeing all this... it would have broken him.”

Now Danse really wants nothing more than to destroy the Institute inside out. Nora was right. If he and the Brotherhood had been there, they would have blown any chance at learning their motives. No questions asked, destruction would be their number one priority. 

None of that matters right now. Nora doesn’t need to think about what lies ahead for the Institute’s future. 

“The experiences you shared with your husband and infant son are not meaningless. You especially Nora…” Danse frowns. “Your life isn’t meaningless.” 

“This complicates everything. I wanted to hate the Institute. I was ready to find my son, leave, and let the Commonwealth eat them alive. But it’s different now. It’s personal. Shaun may be nothing like what I hoped for, what I imagined, but he’s still my son. And…” Nora’s hands clench into fists. “So I stayed there for a week.”

Complicates everything is an understatement. 

“I learned much about the Institute while I was there. He showed me how they create synths… and he told me that it’s thanks to his DNA that Gen 3 synths are closer to man than machine. All synths created since 2227 have been made because of him. In some ways, it’s my fault and Nate’s that people have been killed and replaced. God, if we had just died in the explosion like everyone else, none of this would have happened.” 

“Do _not_ say that, Nora.” 

Danse’s heart hurts. If Nora had died in the nuclear detonation, they would have never met. He can’t imagine being here without her. 

“This would have happened whether or not you were in the vault. The Institute would have found what they wanted one way or another.” 

“Shaun asked me to help the Institute. I told him I would because I want a relationship with my son, regardless of what he’s done. I have to try. I owe it to Nathan.”

A sinking feeling settles inside of Danse. 

“Nora, I…” He has to ask it. He has to be sure. “I’m sorry to have to ask this, but are you sure that this man you spoke to was your son?” 

“I knew you would ask that.” Nora looks away from him and runs a hand through her hair. “Believe me I was skeptical too. My infant son had a birthmark on his lower back. I asked him to lift up his shirt, and there it was on his lower left side. The next thing I needed to know was that he was human, not a synth like the boy. He took me to their medical facility and they ran a DNA test. Synth’s carry half of Shaun’s DNA and half synthetically made amino acids. Shaun had half of my DNA, and half of Nathan’s--God they even had some of my husband’s hair to confirm it. We could have ran test after test, but eventually I wanted to believe it, science or not.” 

Danse sighs. “Alright. So it’s your real son. Regardless, Nora, I have to warn you. Your son could be emotionally manipulating you to get you to do what he wants.” 

“I knew you’d say that, too,” she says, quieter. 

When Nora says nothing further, Danse persists. Someone has to tell her about these very real truths, even if it hurts. 

“Nora, I don’t want to lecture you, but you know the Institute and it’s abominations confirm everything the Brotherhood holds true. Mankind abuses technology and science. Man shouldn’t play God. It’s this kind of runaway thinking that led to the bombs dropping over two hundred years ago.” 

“I told you Danse. This complicates everything.” She shakes her head and groans in annoyance. “I’m well aware of what the Brotherhood believes, and and I used to agree to an extent. But right now, the Institute has played God and made man from machine.” She grows quiet. “You… you didn’t see what I saw. The synths in the Institute are essentially slaves. I can understand now why they run away. I can understand why they fear capture, and I can see now why they willingly have their memories wiped. The Institute is their dungeon. They do things to those synths… it’s just inhumane.” 

Nora swallows hard and stands up, mindful of Dogmeat who has fallen asleep. She goes to the nursery’s window and looks outside. Danse follows her, and he fears where her train of thought is taking them. 

“I’m taking the information I collected and I’m giving it to the Railroad.” She raises her hand, silencing him before he can speak. “I’ll give it to the Brotherhood, too, but as of right now, I’m returning to Boston to turn over the information. I’m going to earn their trust and help the Railroad free Synths.”

“The Railroad goes against _everything_ the Brotherhood of Steel believes--”

“I know, but I’ve made my decision. My son created Gen 3 synths. They may not be human, but they have humanity. I have to make this right.” 

“Nora, if you free synths, they will bring about the fall of man all over again. They will decimate the Commonwealth. You have seen what synths can do--” 

“I have seen what synths who have been bound by their programming are capable of, yes, but I have also seen what synths who have broken free are capable of. Inside of the Institute, I saw them serve, I saw synths have their memories erased with the flick of a switch. I saw humanity in their eyes. Fear. Recognition. They deserve a chance to be more than just instruments of the Institute.”

“You say these synths are slaves, but have you considered what will happen when they are freed, how they will turn on humans for vengeance, to usurp their masters--” 

“And that is a very _human_ desire.”

“You’re putting humanity’s fate into jeopardy, Nora, and I’m not going to stand by and let you do that.” He runs a hand over his face. “I’ve been trying my damndest to keep you on the straight and narrow. I took you under my wing, and together we have both seen what the Institute has done to the Commonwealth. How can you deny that?”

Nora shakes her head. “I don’t share the Brotherhood’s fears. Mankind created the bomb. Mankind chose to use it. It’s humans who at heart have caused their own demise. Technology enabled it, yes, but mankind created it. We can choose to do something good with technology. Synths exist. We can destroy them or we can show compassion. So often humanity has chosen destruction of that which it doesn’t understand. I choose compassion. I will let history be my judge.” 

Nora’s words leave Danse conflicted. She makes a compelling argument, but he believes in the tenants of the Brotherhood of Steel. He saw first hand what runaway scientific discovery and technology could do to humanity. The FEV destroyed his best friend, his first love, and he has seen the work of the Institute throughout the Commonwealth. Synths turn on humans eventually, and those sent to replace humans follow their programming till complete annihilation. 

“Danse, I’ll understand if you have to leave because of this. I think I’ve always known that our differing politics would tear us apart. I respect where you’re coming from, but we’re at a crossroads if you can’t try and understand.” 

“What are you going to do, Nora? Give the information to the Railroad, and then what? Go back to the Institute and rescue synths? Your son won’t let you.” 

“Shaun has been brainwashed by the Institute, and I think, given time, I can convince him to seek a peaceful coexistence with the people of the Commonwealth.” 

“The Institute raised him, Nora. He’s not going to change his beliefs. You hardly know who your son really is.” 

“You don’t understand Danse because you’re not a parent.” 

“You can’t play every angle at once. You’re going to get yourself killed. What if Shaun finds out you have given Institute data to the Railroad and the Brotherhood? Do you think he’ll forgive you just because you’re blood? No. From what you’ve said of him, I think he would imprison you, at best, or replace you with a synth, at worst.” 

“He’s my _son_ , Danse, he's my baby boy.” 

“No, God damn it!” Danse shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Nora, but he’s a man who grew up without you. That’s not your fault, but his actions have consequences. He’s a man who thinks he can play God and get away with it.” 

“He’s dying of cancer.” 

Danse regrets the words immediately. If there was ever a red line in the sand, he has surely crossed it. It doesn’t matter if it’s the truth and that she’s in denial; some truths shouldn’t be said. 

“What?” 

“My son. Before I left, he told me he hopes that I return. He wants me to help the Institute so I become familiar with how it runs. He wants me to take over after he dies, which he fears will be soon.” Fresh tears fill her eyes. “I don’t know what to do. I feel so responsible for everything.” She digs the heel of her palms into her eyes and groans in frustration. “I should have been there for my son! Instead he’s complicit in so much death across the Commonwealth, he creates slaves, runs his own personal army of coursers, and from what he tells me, he wants to bring humanity completely underground. The Institute will be bringing a nuclear reactor online soon.” 

“Nora, if what you’re saying is true, then this intelligence is _vital_. The Brotherhood cannot allow the Institute to have nuclear power. The thought of nuclear material being in their hands…” 

Nora sighs, despondent. Danse can tell this conversation has begun to tax her strength. She has been through so much, seen so much. The weight on her shoulders can only be matched by few others. 

He’s torn by his heart and his mind. He hasn’t felt this conflicted in years. He wants to comfort her, to tell her that he understands, if partly. At the same time, he’s in complete abhorrence to her ideas. The path she walks continues to be rife with trouble and weariness. 

“I know he’s your son, but you have to think, too, Nora. He’s not the baby you knew over two hundred years ago. I’m sorry, Nora, really I am. I wish you could go back in time and stop the Institute from taking him, but you can’t do that. You can’t pretend your son is that same baby. The reality is he’s a grown man, a man with motives, ideals, and goals. You need to be careful.” 

“No matter what, Danse, I’m giving the data to both the Brotherhood and the Railroad. That’s not changing. I don’t care what you think. I have to do what I think is right.” Nora unfolds her arms across her chest. “As for Shaun, I will return after I have spoken with both factions’ leaders. I will try to reason with him, and if he refuses to seek peace, then we will go from there.”

“Nora, are you prepared for the worst, if it should happen?” 

“No,” Nora says honestly with a weak smile. She looks to him and shrugs as her smile fades. “But we aren’t there yet. There’s no use speaking of hypotheticals when there’s still hope. Compassion, remember?” 

Danse shakes his head. Her tenuous optimism for the future comes across as more than misguided, it’s absolutely foolish. She’s going to get herself killed.

“So what are you going to do, Danse? Are you with me?” She tentatively reaches out for him but then draws back, clasping her hands before her. “Or is this where we say goodbye?” 

Danse looks into her green eyes and frowns. He sees the glimmer of hope for but a moment, and then it shatters as realization comes over her. 

_I’m sorry,_ he wants to tell her. _I’m sorry I’m not Nathan, the man who should be here with you fighting this battle. Not me._

“I swore loyalty to the Brotherhood,” he begins, his voice quiet. “I have to honor that vow.” Danse braces himself. “I can’t betray my brothers and sisters in arms. I can’t do something that fundamentally goes against what I stand for. I care about you Nora, but I can’t. If you continue along this path I can’t… I won’t be a part of it any longer.”

Danse watches as her body shudders. Her heart breaks in such a visceral, corporeal manner that his does too. Maybe she was right when she said that differing politics would tear them apart in the end. 

“I won’t stop you, but I can’t support you if you do this. It goes against everything I am. You’re asking me to be someone I’m not.” 

“No one can ever say you’re not an honest, loyal soldier.” 

Nora wipes the spilled tears from her cheeks and watching it is like having a knife ran through his chest. Danse wants to comfort her, to be the solid, unshakeable man she needs, but it’s too late. It’s over. 

“You’re right. I can’t ask you to change. This is a leap of faith and you have to do be genuine to yourself. Maybe this should end while we’re ahead, before we do something both of us regret. 

She digs into the pocket of her jeans and offers a holotape. She takes his bigger hand in hers and places the tape there, curling his fingers over it. 

“Take that to Elder Maxson with my warmest regards,” she says sarcastically. She sniffles and adds, “I’m sure Maxson will be unhappy with my resignation, but I hope that this final gesture will serve as a peace offering.” She shrugs listlessly. “I’ve already made a copy for the Railroad’s techs to decrypt.” 

When her soft hand slips from his, Danse feels his heart drop painfully into his stomach. Her arms fold across her chest and she closes herself off from him. Suddenly, it’s too much for him. Danse reaches out for her, needing to hold her, but she steps away from him. 

“Nora, I…” 

_I’m sorry._

“You should go,” she utters. She wipes at her eyes and stands up straighter. “You have a long journey before you reach the Boston Airport.” 

“For the sake of the Commonwealth, I hope you are able to reason with him.” 

“I hope so too. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, I won’t forget it.” 

The words ring like a deathknell. Nora doesn’t look at him, doesn’t wave goodbye, and she doesn’t say anything else. 

Danse knows when he’s no longer welcome. He leaves her home and doesn’t look back. Nora Prescott was right, he tells himself over and over again, desperately needing to convince himself. Eventually, politics would tear them apart. Eventually, they would no longer agree. This is for the best; better to part ways now, rather than push each other to the brink. 

Danse leaves his heart in Sanctuary, where he hopes it will be safe.


	6. The Devil In Disguise

Aboard the Prydwen, friendly faces greet him, but the first question he’s asked by all of his close comrades is the same: 

_What happened to Knight Prescott?_

Danse makes up a story to spare her memory. After all, she did good work for the Brotherhood, despite her quarrels. He tells them she has fallen extremely ill and that she sent him ahead with the Institute data because of it’s time sensitive material. People believe his lie, even Elder Maxson, who he surely thought would see through his flimsy cover. Maybe the young elder doesn’t care if she’s gone. 

Maxson orders him to pass over the data to Proctor Quinlan in order to decrypt the Institute’s algorithms and messages. So he does, without question, like a good soldier. 

The only person who sees through Danse is Haylen, who corners him before he can reach the quiet of his quarters. 

“Tell me what happened.” 

“We had a disagreement. She decided her time with the Brotherhood was over. I respect what she’s done for us, so I hope you will keep this in confidence.” 

“Does this mean you’re no longer together?”

“We couldn’t make it work.” 

Admitting it aloud reopens the wounds all over. The loss hurts. His sleepless nights returned after he left Sanctuary. He hasn’t had an appetite. He can’t stomach the sight of Fancy Lads, which he used to love. 

“You disagreed over what?” 

“Politics.” 

Haylen gapes, her eyes wide. “You’re kidding.” 

“We hold different beliefs about the future of the Commonwealth--”

“Are you telling me you chose the Brotherhood over her? Don’t tell me you really have been putting the Brotherhood before everything else… I thought that was just your battle mantra, but if you’ve genuinely meant it all this time...” 

“You’re telling me I should have changed everything about who I am, what I value, just for her? That’s foolish, Haylen. What’s done is done. She chose her side. I chose mine. Remember Prescott for who she was and what good she did for the Brotherhood.” 

“I can’t believe you, Danse. You really are Paladin Dense.” 

He’s taken aback by the insult. Nora used the same play on his name before, back in Vault 81. 

“Yes, Danse. _Everyone_ calls you that. You know all this time, every time one of the recruits called you that or one of the other Knights, I would stand up for you and say you’re one of the most intuitive men I know. I said they were wrong, that you listen, you really listen. They all laughed at me and called me crazy. Even Rhys called you that behind your back. Apparently they were right all along and I’ve been making a fool of myself all this time. You really are Paladin Dense and I should have known better.” 

Haylen leaves with a scowl, pushing past him. Danse enters his quarters and slinks down onto the edge of his bed. He runs a hand over his face, sighs, and then holds his head in his hands. 

Over a year ago, his life seemed to be in order. All Danse had to worry about was protecting his team and fighting till his last breath. Even if there were struggles, even if he lost some of his best men to combat or illness, at the end of the day he knew his purpose. His job remained the same: protect his team and scout the Commonwealth for technology. He knew where he stood in the rank and file of the Brotherhood. 

A year ago and thirteen days exactly, Nora Prescott stumbled into his life, terrified and depressed in her grief and horror, but so determined to survive the Commonwealth. Against all reason he decided to take her into his care, taught her how to shoot and fight, and became her sponsor. He watched her make peace before war more often than not. He learned to listen to her as more than just her comrade. He fell in love with her against his judgment, and deep down, Danse knows he still loves her regardless.

Nora once told him the story of Dante’s Inferno back in Vault 111. It was an epic poem from a time known as the Renaissance. She loved the Italian poet’s liberal use of historical figures throughout the tale through the treacherous nine layers of Hell that were based on the Seven Deadly Sins. In the second circle, powerful whirlwinds kept lovers apart for eternity. Cleopatra and Antony. Paris and Helen of Troy. Tristan and Isolde. Paolo and Francesca. Damned by their selfish, carnal lust. Doomed to always be close, but always out of reach. 

Except, between him and Nora, no cyclone keeps them apart against their will. They chose this fate.

**x X x**

Weeks pass. Danse falls back into his routine. He tunes in to the Minutemen’s radio frequency just to hear General Prescott’s voice boom into his ear. It’s a recording, just a call to action to recruit new soldiers for local militias, but her voice still inspires him.

Danse stays aboard the Prydwen more often while Proctor Quinlan and Ingram sort through the data provided by Knight Prescott. Soon, a new infiltration team will be made, with him leading it, to storm the ruins of the CIT. Danse doesn’t know what Maxson has in mind, but it worries him when he overhears the Minutemen will somehow be involved. He hopes Maxson isn’t foolish enough to try to take the relay for Brotherhood use. To his further surprise, Ingram begins work rebuilding Liberty Prime, the robot monolith that the U.S. Military once used at the liberation of Anchorage. The Brotherhood then used it in the Capital Wasteland. From his own observations, Prime has a long way to go in order to come back online. The Commonwealth may not have that kind of time. 

Danse takes each day as they come. That’s all he can really do. By focusing on the short term, everything else fades away. What matters is stopping the Institute, following orders, and protecting the people of Commonwealth from the synth menace. Whatever heartbreak and loneliness he felt grows numb. Perhaps time will heal this wound. Life becomes simple with such a narrow focus. 

Until his life spirals out of control in an instant. 

He’s working on his laser rifle in his quarters when someone frantically begins to knock at his metal door. Upon opening it, he finds Haylen standing on the other side, completely strick in terror. Danse immediately shifts into a combat-ready mindset. She rarely becomes this shaken. Something has caught her off guard. 

Haylen moves past him, into his room, in a hurry. She starts to collect his personal effects into a bag, and he has to stop her. 

“Haylen, what’s wrong?” 

“You need to leave the Prydwen. Now. There’s no time to explain. If you don’t leave right now I can’t protect you.” 

“Protect me? Protect me from--”

Haylen shoves his Brotherhood issue coat into his hands. 

“Don’t get into your power armor. Go straight to the lower level and get onto the last starboard vertibird. Do you understand? Get going, _now_.” 

“Haylen, I’m not--”

“Go to the bunker where we waited out that terrible rad storm. You remember? When it was just us? Rhys was back at Cambridge. Go there. No one knows about that place besides us. Go there and put this holotape into the terminal there. Do not look at it until you reach the post. Danse there is no time to explain. You need to trust me, obey my orders, and leave.” 

“No. Not until you explain what the Hell is going on--”

“Listen to me Danse. In ten minutes this entire ship and it’s crew is going to turn hostile to you. If you don’t leave now you’re going to get yourself killed. Do you want Knight Prescott to find out you died? Do you want her to know the way you were murdered? Do you want her to find out this way?” 

Haylen has never begged. Danse can sense the desperation, the fear, the worry. Her words of warning alarm him. What could turn the entire Brotherhood hostile towards him? He’s concerned for her--did she take Jet or Mentats? Unless… unless someone has found out about his relationship with Nora… But that’s impossible. No one saw them. They never did anything aboard the Prydwen except… 

They held hands, once, in private. Did someone see them? Even if someone did, Danse could easily explain it all away. Everyone knows, after all, that Nora is a widow who lost her son. 

“Go to Listening Post Bravo. Please. If not for your own sake, then for Nora’s.” 

The image of Nora appears in his mind. Beautiful and smiling, she seems so close but also so far out of reach.

“Don’t do anything stupid. Follow my instructions. Don’t contact anyone. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t stop anywhere. Go straight there. Leave and don’t come back until I tell you to.” 

“Alright, Haylen. If you say so.” Danse takes the items she hands him. He puts on his coat and then slings his pack over his shoulder. “You owe me an explanation.” 

“I promise Danse, you will find answers soon, I just know it.” 

Against his better judgment, Danse leaves. If this really is because someone found out about him and Nora, then he hopes wherever she is, she’s safe. At this point, he’s ready and willing to take the fall for her.

**x X x X x**

“Hancock, a vertibird just landed outside of Goodneighbor on one of the rooftops. Two people came out, a man and a woman in Brotherhood power armor. They’re demanding for someone named Knight Prescott to come out immediately, or they’re going to open fire…”

Nora freezes. She turns and looks over her shoulder, away from Deacon who sits beside her at the bar, and meets Mayor Hancock’s eyes. One of his guards came in to deliver the report. 

“Nora, I thought you left those assholes?” Deacon asks, leaning close. “What’s this about?” 

“I don’t know. I did leave the Brotherhood. I left weeks ago, but I’m going to find out.” Nora slides off her barstool, but before she can go speak with Hancock, Deacon stops her by grabbing her hand. 

“Hey. Be careful. I don’t like the sound of this. Why would they be hunting you down like this?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. I’m not going to let them hurt innocent people.” 

“Alright. Don’t have too much fun without me. Keep in touch, alright? You know where to meet up. If I don’t hear from you or see you at the rendez-vous in a week, we’re going to come for you, Professor.”

“Thanks, Dee. I appreciate it.” 

“What’re friends for? I told you. I’m in your corner.” 

Nora smiles at him and then goes to Hancock, who sits at his favorite table with a scantily-clad man and woman hanging off of him. 

“I’ll handle this,” she tells Hancock. “Don’t do anything rash.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, doll. That’s your tango. Take care of yourself.” 

Nora heads out the Third Rail into the early evening chill. She follows after the guard, who takes her to the makeshift entrance to Goodneighbor. Outside the neon lit wall, she finds two armed Brotherhood of Steel soldiers clad in power armor. Their armor coloring appears familiar; she knows these soldiers. 

“About time, ghoul,” one of them growls. 

“Hey, I want no trouble,” Nora retorts with a glare. “I came here, didn’t I? What do you want?” 

One soldier steps forward and grabs her roughly by the shoulder, pulling her forward. 

“Hey! What the Hell is this all about!” 

“Elder Maxson ordered us to find you, Prescott. He has some questions for you. He told us to bring you in unharmed, but if you continue to resist, we’re happy to bring you in handcuffs.” 

“I am not a dog. I don’t come at Maxson’s beckon and call.” 

“You deserted,” the female soldier asserts.

“Don’t try to reason with her. She knows what she did.” Nora recognizes that voice, even through the filter of the helmet. Knight Rhys. Of course. “And if you ask me, I’m tired of hearing her talk.” 

Before Nora can react and defend herself, the butt of a rifle slams into her jaw, causing her to see stars. She’s damn lucky he missed her glasses else she’d be blind without them. Her wrists are pulled tightly behind her back and handcuffed. She can hardly walk. Distantly, she hears the guard shouting for help, but it’s too late. The two soldiers drag her to the vertibird, shove her onto it, and fly off before Goodneighbor can respond. 

The flight passes in a blur. Nora hears them talking, sometimes at her, sometimes about her. Silence is all they’ll get out of her until they explain. She doesn’t care if they beat her for it, she can take the punishment; she’s not going to break. 

Nonetheless, as her nose bleeds, as her split lip and bruised cheek ache, Nora wonders what this could be about. The female soldier accused her of being a deserter, and while that’s not wrong, she thought there had been closure between her and the Brotherhood. Rhys exclaimed she knew what she had done. Not after this migraine, she doesn’t. 

Had Danse not explained she was leaving the Brotherhood? Why had Maxson sent out these two soldiers instead of her old sponsor to come find her? Unless… Nora’s heart clenches painfully in her chest. Unless Paladin Danse is in trouble, too. 

Maybe after all this time, someone figured out that they used to be a couple. Perhaps they’re dragging her back to the Prydwen for her testimony, to explain herself. Without a doubt, she’ll spare Danse the trouble. She’ll fall back on her old plan. Confess to seducing the stalwart soldier, explain that it was all her, not him, not good, honest Danse. They’ll punish her, not him. Nora can take exile by these people; Danse can’t. So she’ll take the fall. 

By the time the vertibird arrives on board the Prydwen, Nora’s prepared for what she has to say. Come what may, she will do whatever she can to protect him. 

Does she fear the stares or the murmurings around her as the two soldiers pull her along? No, of course not. Let them talk. They’ll know the story soon enough. Holding her head up high and looking straight ahead, she refuses to give them even a shred of reason to gossip about her, about Danse. 

The soldiers bring her to the bridge, where Elder Maxson waits. Months ago, Nora might have feared him and what he could do to the Commonwealth. Despite all his proclamations about keeping the best interests of the Commonwealth people in mind, Nora hasn’t been convinced. She’s seen armed Brotherhood soldiers bully and harass local farmers, and she’s heard the reports from Preston about settlements being ransacked by Brotherhood knights. Maxson views the Commonwealth people as subjects, people to conquer on the path to destroying the Institute. Nora regrets having a hand in the Brotherhood, even if it led her to Danse--or maybe she’s wrong. 

“We found her at the bar in Goodneighbor. It wasn’t with her.” 

Maxson turns and looks Nora over. Immediately, a scowl marks his features. 

“I explicitly told you both that this was not to be an arrest.” 

“Prescott made it difficult, sir,” the female soldier explains. “Regrettably we had to use force.” 

“They didn’t explain what the Hell they were doing. They didn’t exactly share what this is all about,” Nora says in her defense. She’s not about to be dragged into the mud on their word alone. “They come to Goodneighbor with guns pointed on the city and they expect a friendly welcome…”

Maxson raises a hand, effectively silencing Nora. He gestures to her and growls, “Uncuff her, _now_.” 

Rhys removes the cuffs, but not without difficulty and pain. Nora swings her hands forward, rubbing her raw wrists, and bites down on her tongue to show no pain. 

“You both are dismissed. Tell Cade that Prescott will be seeing him shortly to have her injuries checked.” 

Both knights leave. Once the door closes, Nora glances to Elder Maxson and meets his gaze with no fear. 

“What were you doing in Goodneighbor?” 

Nora knows when she’s under the spotlight. Back before the war, her fellow department members and the Dean for the Cambridge School of the Arts and the Humanities had put her under the lense when she applied for tenure. She knows an interrogation when she sees one. 

“Purchasing cheap ammo. There is a robot there who makes the best .308 rounds in the Commonwealth. Kleo.” 

“I see. I’m sure Proctor Teagan would have been more than capable of making whatever specialized ammo you needed, if you asked.” Maxson clasps his hands behind his back. “So you entered the Institute with the help of the Minutemen, a week passed, and then you returned, only to come under a horrendous illness that kept you out of the field…” 

Nora tries to keep a blank face in the midst of a confusing turn of events. Her being deemed sick following her leave of the Institute is news to her, unless… 

_Oh God damn it, Danse._

“That’s correct.” 

“You sent Paladin Danse ahead with the information you explicitly collected while in the Institute, is that correct?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you know what was encrypted in the data?” 

“No, I did not. I promised to send whatever data I collected to the Brotherhood. I kept a copy for the Minutemen, but my technicians have been unable to decrypt it.”

A partial truth, a partial lie. The Minutemen has it and Sturges has been unable to decrypt the ciphers. The Railroad has the data too, but Tinker Tom has made greater progress. 

Maxson nods and begins to pace back and forth. “So, to reiterate, you had no idea, upon handing over that tape through Danse, what was on it?” 

“I told you, I didn’t know and neither did he. I have no idea what was contained in the files.” 

“That’s interesting, Prescott. The holotape revealed a list of missing synths. One synth caught our attention M7-97. Do you know why this synth, out of several listed, drew our focus?” 

A chill runs down Nora’s spine. “I don’t know, Maxson,” she says, her voice quiet. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“The truth.” Maxson stops pacing and faces her. At his height, he towers over her. “This synth’s DNA matched a member of the Brotherhood of Steel. It matched that of Paladin Danse.” 

Nora blinks, rendered speechless. Since boarding the vertibird, she thought this was all about the possibility of her and Danse being found out. She thought surely this was to be an ethics trial, or perhaps finally, formal excommunication from the Brotherhood. But this… this is different. The words begin to sink in. Danse, a synth? It’s hard to believe; how could someone so staunchly against synthetic life be one himself? It makes no sense, and yet… 

“That can’t be true.” 

“Are you telling me you are not aware that Danse is a synth?” 

“He’s not. He can’t be. Danse, he would never…” 

Never what? _Choose_ to be one? Synths don’t have a _choice_. They just are. 

“Look for yourself, Knight.” 

Maxson reveals a manilla folder containing files on the Institute holotape from behind his back. He opens it to leaflets marked in classified stamps. On one side, Nora sees a black and white photo of a younger Paladin Danse, a man less scarred, less battle-hardened. Then, medical information signed and approved by Cade. A marked up DNA sequence matched with a read out from the holotape. The DNA profiles, to what she can understand with her limited knowledge, appear to match. 

Maxson sighs. “Paladin Danse is a synth.” 

Reality hits her like she has fallen into ice cold water. Danse is in serious danger. They’ll hurt him, they’ll want to tear him open, dissect him, figure out why and how he infiltrated the Brotherhood. They won’t just kill him. They’ll want to study him, torture him, make an example of him for the Railroad, for all synths in hiding...

“Oh my God,” Nora says to herself, softly. Tears well into her eyes, and she desperately tries to fight them back. She cannot dare to show any weakness, she can’t let them see her stumble, she can’t…

“I know it’s hard to believe.” Maxson offers a handkerchief, and she takes it, reluctantly. “We were all fooled. If it’s any consolation, Danse is the only synth in our ranks. I’m happy to report that you are not a synth, Knight Prescott.”

Nora’s grip on the handkerchief tightens. “Are you telling me you cross analyzed my DNA?” 

“When I was told that Danse came up in the files, I had Cade test the samples you provided him during your physical. I had to be sure, Prescott. I have always found your story suspect, but your genetics provide all the proof I need.”

Nora resists the urge to damn him to Hell. How dare he do this to her, against her will. 

“We are lucky to have you in our ranks, even if you were recruited by an Institute monstrosity.” 

“How do you know the Institute didn’t just plant false information to cause a witch hunt? Did you even ask Danse to speak for himself?” Nora shoves the handkerchief back into his hands. “Where is Danse being kept, where have you imprisoned him, Maxson? Tell me, _now_.” 

“M7-97 ran. It is no longer aboard the Prydwen. Only the guilty flee from justice.” 

Danse fled because he’s scared. He’s confused. Those military survival instincts kicked in. Fight or flight. 

“But it is no matter. M7-97 will be swiftly dealt with. That’s why I brought you here. I think it would be best for you to track him down and execute him.” 

“No,” Nora growls. “I am not your attack dog. I am not going to kill Danse. You’re insane.” 

“You act as if you have a choice. Which, perhaps, you do--but I advise you think on this choice. You can either track it down and execute it, or I will send my men to do the job while you watch them. I have heard that it takes several bullets to make synths incapacitated. I’ve also seen how much the Gen 3 synths bleed. It’s almost human how they scream and beg for mercy.” 

Nora tries to stay in control of her emotions but ultimately fails. She can barely catch her breath or still her racing, aching heart. Maxson can see right through her, as if she’s made of glass. There’s no doubt about it now. Maxson knows that she loves him--but for how long? Had their feelings for each other been approved of, previously? Has he only revealed his hand now, to abuse it? 

Elder Maxson walks over to his desk and touches the photograph of Danse. “I know you think that thing cared for you, but you’re wrong. Machines feel nothing. You deserve a man who could love you with his human heart.” 

“Are you volunteering, Arthur Maxson?” She spats, her words laced with venom, “Because from where I’m standing, you have no heart.” 

“It’s precisely because of that fire that I admire you, Nora Prescott. Your will to defy authority speaks to your own humanity.” Maxson looks her over and has the gall to smile at her. “I think you could make a fine wife. We may disagree on the fundamentals, but I think I could make you see reason.” 

“I would rather die.” 

Yes, Nora would die before she even considered the thought. The thought of being Maxson’s little house-wife disgusts her. 

“You have a choice, I hope you make the right one. Deviate from my orders and I will ensure there will be no place in the Commonwealth for you and that thing to call sanctuary.” Maxson reaches out and tries to touch her, causing Nora to grab him by the wrist. “I can be merciful. Obey me and I promise you will be greatly rewarded.” 

Maxson wrenches his hand free. He gestures for her to leave and adds, “Report to Quinlan for further instructions. He will provide you with information about M7-97’s last whereabouts. Be sure to see Cade about your injuries.” 

Nora leaves while she still can. She heads down to the lower floor of the bridge and vomits bile over the edge of the Prydwen. Not only did that bastard order her to kill Danse, the prick made a pass at her. 

_Danse._

She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. She stands there against the metal guard railing, her head swimming. Her face aches still from the rifle, but it feels numb in comparison to the tightness in her chest. 

Time isn’t on her side. She can reflect on the vertibird transport down to the airport. She has to find him, somehow, some way. Nora can only imagine what he must be going through, and the thought of him in the wasteland, and experiencing this existential crisis like none other alone, frightens her. There’s no time for what-if questions. 

Nora enters the hull of the Prydwen to find Quinlan, her expression blank, her face stone. She passes by the section of the zeppelin where Brotherhood scribes and soldiers stand around operating tables where supermutants, ghouls, and Gen 3 synths are dissected and studied. The quarantined area has always been off-limits to her, but with word of Paladin Danse being found out as a synth, the restrictions appear to have laxed. She sees through the crowd a dead synth lying on the table, her skull opened for examination. One of the senior knights uses forceps to reach inside the skull and remove the bloodied synth component, and Nora almost vomits again at the sight. Her heart aches as she walks away--no one deserves that. There’s nothing that can be done for that synth. 

Nora makes her way to Proctor Quinlan in a daze. She ignores his negative, dismissive remarks about Danse for her own safety. Too many people on board may suspect her of sympathizing with Danse. It’s bad enough Maxson knows her feelings. If Maxson saw it, who else did too? Had they not been as discreet as she thought?

At the same time, _how dare they._ Each and every one of these Brotherhood Soldiers. How dare them for not standing by their brother-in-arms. Nora wants to scream at them, to show them their cruelty, to demand justice for the man who would have gladly given his life for any of these men and women. How quickly they turned on him. How dare they profess moral righteousness. How dare they call him nothing but a soulless machine. 

_Danse put you all before himself,_ she wants to yell at them. _There’s the Brotherhood, and then there’s everything else. He put you all first, and this is how you repay him? He’s not a toaster. He’s not a radio you can just turn off and on. He’s your brother._

These traitors belong in the last circle of Hell, trapped in ice. Their leader, Arthur Maxson, would fit right in with Brutus, Cassius, Cain, and Judas in Satan’s jaws. For now, there’s no time for revenge. Soon, Nora will cry havoc, let slip the dogs of war. Soon they will all know her wrath, as Antony showed those who betrayed Caesar. 

When Quinlan releases her at long last from his lecture about how synths represent the greatest threat to humanity, Nora struggles to keep herself together. Hearing him speak of Danse as an object, an abomination, a traitor makes her sick all over again. 

While walking through the hull of the ship to reach the upper decks, she drowns her thoughts in the hum of the zeppelin. She sits down on one of the cargo crates and presses the heels of her palms into her eyes. Just a moment, she tells herself. Just a moment and then she’ll pull herself together and head out into the unknown. One moment of weakness. 

Memories rush back like the tide coming to shore. Nora remembers the time when she and Danse sat down here for a round of R&R with Haylen, Rhys, and other Brotherhood soldiers. They passed a bottle of old whiskey around, told stories, and had a good time. It was one of the few times Nora ever saw Danse laugh and smile before Vault 81. She learned he’s a huge lightweight. Her, Haylen, and Rhys had to carry that lug all the way up the stairs to his quarters. She hadn’t laughed so hard in months since leaving Vault 111. 

A sob wrenches itself from her. Those days are long gone. 

“Knight Prescott? Nora?” Haylen’s voice startles her from her sorrow, and she almost has a panic attack. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You must feel terrible.” 

“It’s fine,” Nora lies. Everything is far from fine. 

“I… I don’t know how to ask this delicately, so I’m just going to be straightforward. Everyone knows Maxson summoned you here to… to go after him. Paladin Danse.” Haylen can barely keep her voice steady. Hearing the emotion in the younger woman’s voice sets her heart at ease. Perhaps she and Danse really aren’t as alone in this. “You’re… you’re not really going to, you know…” 

“No, I’m not,” Nora says simply. 

“Oh thank goodness. When I saw you with Proctor Quinlan, I thought…” 

“I love Danse.” The admission causes new tears to fall. “Discovering he’s a synth changes some things, sure, but I still love him. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to find him and keep him safe.” 

“I was the one who told Danse to run. I found out what was on the tape before it was announced publicly and I sent him away,” Haylen murmurs. “I didn’t tell him why he needed to leave until I received word that he arrived at the coordinates I’m about to give you. I sent him all the files. He knows he’s a synth, now.” Haylen tentatively reaches forward and touches her pip-boy. “I care about Danse. He’s more than just my superior officer. He’s my friend. Danse has always looked out for me, and I will not let anyone hurt him. Can I trust you to make sure he comes out of this okay?” 

“I promise I’ll do everything I can to protect him.” 

Even from himself. 

“Okay. Here are the coordinates.” Haylen fiddles with her pip-boy until she reaches the map. She types onto the screen and a new marker appears. “I sent him to an old listening post him and I stayed in during a radstorm. Only him and I have been there. You’re going to have to be careful. We defused most of the mines but there may be some left.” 

“I’ll be careful.” 

“Please take care of him. I know something happened between you two, but…” 

“None of that matters. It’s in the past. I never stopped loving him.” 

Haylen nods and offers a half-hearted smile. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t stop loving you too.”


	7. Long Is The Way

Nora takes Deacon’s advice after being skeptical over these last few weeks; she needs his witty, snarky bits and pieces of sound survival techniques to make it through this precarious situation. 

_Trust no one. Barely trust yourself, too, Professor. If you’re out to meet someone, make sure you trick anyone who may be following you. Do more than double back. Triple back. Cover up your tracks. Travel only at night. Don’t stop moving. Tire your enemies out._

Nora doesn’t know if it all really works, but she tries despite being in a hurry. Danse’s protection is her number one priority. Time isn’t her ally--it’s an enemy, and one she pays the price for. 

While passing through Cambridge, a raider sniper shoots her before she has a chance to duck. Nora knows it must be an act of grace by Nathan from the other side, her guardian angel, or sheer dumb luck that the sniper’s aim is mostly shit. The bullet pierces through her leg cleanly, slowing her down significantly, but not taking her out of the fight. After recovering from the safety of cover, Nora does exactly what Danse taught her to do: assess the situation, plan, and follow through. With her own sniper rifle in hand, she clandestinely peers through the scope, acquires her target on the rooftop, and takes her shot. The bullet pierces through his skull, instantly killing him. The sniper falls off the edge of the rooftop like a ragdoll. Mission accomplished. 

“Tango down,” Nora mumbles to herself, wishing it was Danse saying these words, not her. “Ad Victorium.”

After patching up her wounded leg, Nora hobbles along, using her rifle as a makeshift crutch. She no longer back tracks. If time was not her ally before, it’s her blatant enemy now, and it’s gaining on her. 

No, all the company she brings along is man’s best friend. Dogmeat, who was waiting patiently for her at a nearby settlement while she handled Railroad affairs in Goodneighbor. At night, he lays close to her bedroll. Always a light sleeper, he’s ready to wake up and fight at the first sign of danger. Nora talks to him, quietly, about her feelings and her fears, while stroking his back. The loneliness and hopelessness stays at bay with her faithful friend at her side. 

After five days of travel on foot, Nora arrives at the coordinates Haylen programmed into her pip-boy. She enters the facility carefully, and she tries her best to refrain from triggering any alarms. In the worst case scenario, if she was followed, perhaps the heavy security will discourage anyone from coming inside. 

Nora finds the ground floor of Listening Post Bravo empty and abandoned. Thus, she takes the elevator to the bottom, but it quickly becomes tied for longest elevator ride ever. It’s competition? The platform that took her, Nathan, Shaun, and a pitiful handful of her neighbors down into the vault after the bomb dropped onto Boston. The closed, tight space makes her feel ill, and Dogmeat senses her distress with a whimper. The blood loss from her leg doesn’t help. Luckily, the elevator opens before her dizziness worsens. 

Nora enters the bunker and begins to drag herself along. A terrifying realization washes over her: she doesn’t know how much longer her adrenaline can take this. Her body can’t shut down, not when she’s this close to finding him. 

“Danse?” She calls down the hallway, hoping her voice will carry. “It’s me, Danse. It’s Nora. I’m… I’m not here to…” 

Nora’s head begins to spin. She stumbles and catches herself on a nearby wall. Her gun slips from her grip and clatters to the concrete floor. Dogmeat’s loud barks grow more and more distant. 

“D-Danse,” she moans, “please, if you’re…” 

Stars prickle in her vision and everything blurs. Colors and shapes run together. Her head lolls forward, heavy suddenly, and her good leg gives out. Nora collapses onto the floor. At the very least, she made it to Listening Post Bravo. 

As she fades in and out of consciousness, Nora sees and hears Danse running down the hall to come kneel at her side. He’s shouting something, something she cannot make out no matter how much she focuses. Strong arms wrap around her, and he lifts her, cradling her limp body in his arms. 

“What the Hell are you doing here?” 

Everything sounds muted, like she’s submerged underwater. Danse looks her over and finds the bloody bandage around her left calf. 

“Are you insane?” 

Too weak to respond properly, Nora can only reach out and splay her shaking fingers against his orange Brotherhood of Steel uniform. 

Danse carries her down the hall into a server room with many work stations. He lays her down on a small, dirty bed pushed against one wall, and then fetches her a cup of water. He helps her drink, and greedily she swallows the entire glass. Then, his focus shifts to the reopened wound on her leg. Without hesitation, Danse injects a stimpack directly near the wound to numb the area and ease pain. He starts to perform basic triage. He stops the bleeding and cleans the hole. The medicine thankfully works quickly, helping her temporarily regain some of her faculties. 

While he bandages her leg, Danse remarks, “You’re damn lucky this missed anything serious. You’re lucky it pierced completely through. How could you be so careless? You could have been paralyzed.” 

“I was in a hurry,” Nora rasps. “I had to come for you.”

Danse doesn’t say anything, perhaps in anger. He moves to walk away, but Nora stops him by grabbing the sleeve of his uniform. 

“Don’t go,” she begs. “Stay, please.” 

He hesitates, so Nora gives him a pleading look, something more akin to Dogmeat wanting treats in his bowl at Sanctuary Hills. The strength of the stimpack begins to make her drowsy. 

“Scared gone when wake,” she slurs, her speech impaired by the powerful drugs working in her bloodstream, “‘fraid to alone. No go now.” 

“Fine.” 

Nora groans in relief with a smile. With the last of her strength, she extends her hand to him. Danse takes it, reluctantly, murmuring something under his breath. She passes out before she can make any of it out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! If you'd like to follow me for updates or to chat about all things Fallout, you can find me on tumblr @ [robcoindustries](https://robcoindustries.tumblr.com/)


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